


Love is for Bards

by kitchenwitchbae



Series: Eberron Campaign [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Angst, Clerics, Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition, Eberron (Setting), Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Forbidden Love, He's an Incubus, Heavy Petting, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Opposites Attract, Possibly Unrequited Love, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, She's a Celestial, Trigger Warning: Heavy Sexual Material, Trigger Warning: Implied Abuse, Trigger Warning: Implied Rape, Trigger Warning: Slavery, Trigger Warning: Teenage Slavery, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, What is love, mystics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:49:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22255957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitchenwitchbae/pseuds/kitchenwitchbae
Summary: “What,” he asked into the heavy silence, “is love?”Several bards called out lines from romantic songs, others made kissing faces and noises, others gyrated heavily with their hips to lewd laughter. The bard upon the stage shook his head, almost as if disappointed.“Nay, ‘tis none of that. Listen, and listen well, for I will tell you what it is,” he said, his thick voice filling the room to the corners and back, “in this tale. It begins with a Celestial, an Incubus, and a meeting at the lair of the Lich, Ainz al Goön.”
Relationships: Celestial/Incubus, Sylendias/Azgabail
Series: Eberron Campaign [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1602118
Kudos: 1





	Love is for Bards

**Author's Note:**

> Wotcher! Hello, and welcome to our little corner of Eberron! One of my oldest friends is the most AMAZING Dungeon Master in the world and recently, he offered to run a one-off campaign for me. We transferred my current character from Pathfinder over to the 5e system (which was a PAIN IN THE ASS) and we both fell in love with the characters. I didn't want to stop, so this is a prequel to the main campaign that's coming up eventually!
> 
> This prequel deals heavily with some triggering material; there is tragic backstory involving teenage slavery, abuse, and implied rape. Also, one of these characters WILL die. If these are triggering matters for you, please do not read. This prequel also deals with heavy sexual innuendo. We're warning you about this now.
> 
> Also, this prequel deals with a Goddess side character or briefly occurring character for the Main Campaign. This is NOT required reading in order to learn about the characters for the Eberron campaign. The Eberron Campaign is a separate entity and will not deal so heavily with the levels of sexual content that are featured in this prequel. Unless, you know, that's your THING. You kinky reader, I see you.
> 
> This prequel is the culmination of seven sessions of shouting, swearing, sweating, and dice rolling. It is my pride, his joy, and our little start into a bigger campaign. As such, this prequel will not have chapters after it; it is one huge one-shot. The main campaign will be posted with chapters in the same series and there may also be a series of short one-shots where we play with the characters and give some extra background flavor to these characters. We’ll see as we get closer to the main campaign.
> 
> Now, that's all out of the way!! Enjoy this tale and remember, what is love? The answer may surprise you.

It was the night of tales at the pub. All the local bards and a few traveling ones would line up to tell a story (usually self-inspired) to entertain the crowd downing drinks and eating skewers. Most told stories about heroism and grand feats, others told stories about local legends or great heroes. Coins exchanged hands, tankards were thrust upon whom the crowd thought was the best performer. It was the night of tales and anyone may tell one.

He was new here. He listened to a few tales, his cloak hiding his form and face from the other bar patrons. He didn’t eat; He didn’t drink. He just listened. After the fourth tale of self-congratulating adventuring, he headed to the bar.

“How do I tell a tale?” he asked, looking back to the stage when the bartender was finally able to speak to him. The bartender raised an eyebrow. The request usually came paired with a drink for courage. 

“There’s a pattern to these,” he replied, pouring a beer for another patron at the man’s elbow. “Just wait for an opening.” He gestured to the stage where a halfling bard was telling her tale to great uproars of laughter. “The locals usually crowd about, but it’ll die down soon. Then you travelers can fight your way up there.”

“Thank you,” he said, leaving a silver coin on the bar before going back to the small standing table. It has a good view of the stage and nobody really seems to want to be standing right now. He returned to watching and waiting.

It was a full five tales later when the stage cleared for a reasonable amount of time. The local bards were busy reaping rewards and the patrons were just starting to really enjoy themselves. Usually, at this point in the evening, a traveling bard would start a song and the evening would devolve into singing and debauchery.

He stepped away from the table and made his way to the stage. The crowd watched eagerly, most holding up a tankard in a toast that the bard did not echo. He grabbed a stool from the table closest to the stage and pulled it up with him.

He positioned the stool and sat down. The bar slowly quieted down. Several patrons looked confused, but some of the older attendees nodded. They understood that patterns did not always repeat. He sat in silence for a moment. Some patrons grew antsy.

“Tell us your tale or get off the stage!” 

The yell came from a local bard, one of the first. He was very drunk at this point. Some people hushed him, but others echoed the refrain. 

The traveling bard pulled the hood of his cloak down, revealing tiefling features of red and purple, with large curved horns and pierced pointed ears. Silver jewelry sparkled on his ears, about his neck, and on each wrist and every finger. A few of the ladies whistled appreciatively, but he paid them no mind. His fingers twisted about a golden holy medallion that hung to the center of his chest. Several tried to get a peek at it, but it glittered too brightly to be seen.

He looked up to the audience and finally seemed ready. Another round of toasts went up. He waited. The audience quickly quieted.

“What,” he asked into the heavy silence, “is love?”

Several bards called out lines from romantic songs, others made kissing faces and noises, others gyrated heavily with their hips to lewd laughter. The bard upon the stage shook his head, almost as if disappointed.

“Nay, ‘tis none of that. Listen, and listen well, for I will tell you what it is,” he said, his thick voice filling the room to the corners and back, “in this tale. It begins at the lair of the Lich, Ainz al Goön.”

\------

She soared down the carved wooden stairs leading from the first floor of the Lich’s Lair to the second. Her white plasma hair streamed behind her like a beacon. She pulled a well-used boot from her golden belt and with a shout, threw it down the stairs ahead of her. The boot landed at the bottom of the stairs, riddled with arrows.

She smirked, and with all the skill of a being of sunlight and air, wove and dove her way around each arrow that shot from the walls. She landed next to the boot. Her bare feet floated above the cold stones. She bent forward and picked up the boot. She lovingly stripped it of the arrows and clipped it back onto her belt.

She was Sylendias; Goddess. Breaker of Chains, Protector of the Oppressed. She had been a fire Gensai before she had been turned into a celestial being by blessings from the Gods for her deeds in freeing herself and other slaves from the House of the Demon Lord Belial. The Gods had granted her power and she had figured that the best way to use it was to travel and free the oppressed and enslaved peoples everywhere in Eberron. This is what had brought her to Ainz al Goön.

She pushed open the plain double doors at the bottom of the stairs and floated through. The room was plain and small, empty save for the cage that housed an Incubus lounging on the metal floor. His bright blue eyes looked up at her entrance and a smile spread across his angular features at the sight of her (rather unusual) golden half-plate armor and white flowing garments.

Her white eyes latched onto him. She dropped the strange marble sword in her right hand and she flew to his side. “Can you understand me?” she asked. 

“Of course I can understand common tongue, you rapturous creature.” His eyes raked over her form and face, drinking in every detail.

“My name is Sylendias, what is yours?” she asked, looking from him to the lock upon the cage.

“I am Azgabail,” he breathed as he subtly cast his charming effects upon her. She let out a long low breath and looked up at him again. Her eyes held his and he knew his charms had worked. “Please, dear little goddess, see fit to release me…” he implored, hands reaching out and wrapping about the bars. “I am so cramped and yearn to see you fully.”

Her hands, wreathed in daylight, reached out and opened the cage. It may have opened a little too easily, but she could only look at Azgabail. He slipped out from the cage and stretched, his muscles rippling in the candlelight. “What sweet release,” he said, looking the Goddess up and down fully. _Really, not bad at all…_ “If only I had the touch of beauty such as yours to soothe my woes and aches.”

Her hand twitched upwards before she yanked it back, clarity coming back to her eyes and face.

“What is it?” he sibilantly asked, using his impressive frame to tower over the Goddess. “See something you like?”

Sylendias blinked rapidly as she resisted his further attempts to charm. “Azgabail, I-!”

“What’s the matter?” His smirk grew wide and fanged. “Is the big, bad, fire goddess afraid of a little kiss?”

He swooped towards her, hands reaching to grab hold of her glimmering purple skin. She reacted without a thought; bright dazzling sunlight flashed from her form. Azgabail growled in pain, dazzled. He reached out blindly for her but she dodged easily. She floated out of his reach, eyes taking in the demon’s movements and form.

Azgabail covered his eyes and blinked rapidly within the artificial darkness, attempting to clear his vision.

“I am not of fire and ash,” her voice came to him from the brightness and incandescent light danced through the gaps in his fingers. He flinched back from the pain. “I am of plasma and light.”

“I did not know,” Azgabail whimpered, following her voice with his head, silver ear jewelry sparkling in her daylight. “But dearest Goddess, how could you be so cruel? Like the harsh sun, you burn my hands which would ever endeavor to caress you.” He lunged forward, only to come into contact with a wall. “What is this?” His hands shuffled along with it, snarling as he realized that the magically conjured wall was a Magical Circle.

“Azgabail,” her voice came to him again. He twisted his head in her direction, still blinking furiously. “Why did you try to take advantage of that which might have been freely given?”

“My lady,” he started, still looking blindly in the direction he assumed she was in, “tis my nature, pure and plain. Forgive me, I overindulged,” his voice trembled with these words, “so overcome was I by your glorious and bounteous form.”

Sylendias floated towards him, watching him. He was an Incubus and yes, it was in their nature. She could no more change his nature than he could get rid of his horns. And yet, despite beating his attempts at Domination, she still found herself flattered by his silver tongue. “Perhaps I am vain after all,” she murmured to herself. Azgabail tilted his head.

“My lady? Did you say something?”

“Yes,” she said aloud, coming down to stand in front of him. The Magic Circle would contain him until she dismissed it. But she couldn’t help feeling guilty. “Azgabail, I am willing to forgive and to heal, however, there is a stipulation.”

“I’m listening,” he said quietly. She felt a thrill go down her spine as his blinded eyes found and held hers. The blue was deep - like the sky in the hour before sunset. Darkness hovered there, but the blue still shone and enchanted.

“Will you assist me in gaining revenge upon your imprisoner, Ainz al Goön? Would you take me to him?”

Azgabail stood back from the Magic Circle. He rubbed at his chin in thought. “Take you to him?”

“Yes,” she answered. The silence stretched between them.

“Perhaps… If you make a deal with me, Goddess. After all, a demon never does anything for nothing.”

His smirk grew wide and lecherous. She knew he was picturing the things he could make her promise. She had to protect herself if she was to get to Ainz and keep him from oppressing the townspeople who had gallantly followed her to the first floor and were still (from what she knew) pitched in battle against his constructs.

“I’m well aware that demons don’t work pro bono,” she said, pulling the tassels on her Bag of Holding apart. “I can draw up a contract betwixt us. You and I both as signing parties.”

He leaned forward eagerly. “And what, pray tell, did you have in mind?” He heard the rustle of paper.

“In exchange for ceased hostilities and accompaniment through the dungeon to the door of Ainz al Goön, I am willing to provide healing spells and any energy for you with given situational consent,” she stated, scratching out what she said as she said it upon the scroll of parchment in her hands. “At the end of this contract, I will provide you with a boon or reward of my choosing.”

Azgabail began to salivate at the thought of the mentioned reward. He put his hand up to the magical barrier, pressing on it. “Deeeeeeaaaaalll,” he hissed, his smile wide. She caught a glimpse of his fangs glinting in the daylight from her hair. She smiled and held up her hands. They began to glow.

“By the word of the Goddess, may you be healed,” she intoned, her voice echoing off of the walls of the room. Azgabail blinked rapidly. She sat in the air on the other side of the shimmering barrier, hair floating about with a mind of its own. Her glowing eyes held his and he felt a twinge deep within. She returned to the parchment in her hands and continued to scratch things into it.

“I’ll be reading that you know,” he said, blinking as his eyes readjusted to the dimness of the room and to her radiance. 

“Of course,” she agreed readily, continuing to write out the Contract, as it would come to be called. He watched as her pen flicked about the parchment, but mostly, he looked upon her. The hunger was already burning at his insides. _And what must Sun Goddess essence taste like?_ He licked his lips before speaking again.  
  
“For the contract to be binding for me, our blood must mingle to sign the page,” he said as he extended his wrists towards the Goddess. She looked up at him and blinked for a moment. 

“Oh!” she realized. “Of course.” She pulled a vial out of her Bag and tossed it across the barrier to him. “Would you please fill that?” She continued to write out what she thought to be mutually and individually beneficial clauses.

He caught the vial easily, watching her write. “Do you believe that you’ll simply outsmart me?” he asked quietly, eyes glinting in the daylight shining from her hair. “Or do you believe that I might overcome my nature in some romantic fairy-tale starring the benevolent goddess and the lustful demon?” She finally looked up at him, puzzlement on her face. “Or…” he sat, splaying his legs wide, the short kilt barely managing to cover things. “Perhaps you just enjoy the delights I bring to those glowing eyes.” 

Her cheeks flushed lightly with a violet coloring. He smirked and agreeably opened a vein to fill the vial. She seemed entranced as he licked his wound closed and slid the vial back towards her. She didn’t pick it up immediately and he gave her a very lascivious wink which broke her trance. She picked up the vial and returned to writing. He leaned back on his elbows, a smug smirk playing across his face.

Apparently, he didn’t need to charm or dominate this Goddess in order to affect her. This would be _fun_.

Sylendias returned to writing, flushed violet with embarrassment. Imagine - getting so distracted by...by…. oh, he was _attractive_ , right enough, but she had a job to do! She had to free the townspeople from the Lich’s control, and by the feeling in her gut, she had another person to help right in front of her. She added the last line, blew on it, and held it out to a grinning Azgabail.

The demon took the scroll and pen that she offered, and went about his task of reading and amending their Contract. He wrote a line about “rewards for above and beyond assistance.'' She amended it with “as decided by both parties and rewards to be decided by Sylendias”. They passed it back and forth for several minutes, each making changes and adding things. 

“You seem very well versed at writing out demonic contracts,” Azgabail begrudgingly commented as he glanced over the final copy of the contract. He could find nothing else to twist or bend to his benefit. “Where did a goddess like yourself learn of this?”

Sylendias didn’t quite meet his questioning gaze. “I...have had dealings with demons before,” she said quietly, using a small dagger pulled from her garments to make an incision in her fingers. She held the dripping plasmatic blood over the vial with Azgabail’s blood. “Truth, it was another demon and a different life, but this is not my first encounter.”

Azgabail licked his fangs as he watched her glimmering white blood mixing with his own dark essence. “And was that demon the end of that life?” He watched her flinch back. “Was he as dashing as I?” Her features grew stony. He chortled at her reactions, pressing further. “Do you _miss_ him?”

Her head snapped up and he shrank back at the blind fury in her brightly glowing eyes. “His name,” she snarled, a horrifying sound from her mouth, “was _Belial_.”

“Belial.” Azgabail breathed. Oh, yes, he knew of what had happened to the Demon Lord of Lies, Belial. The once-powerful Demon Lord had been brought low - silver tongue cut from his head, each of the three hearts stabbed and ripped apart, eyes blinded by dazzling radiance - by the lowest of his slaves. The event had triggered a major slave revolt which spread through the entirety of the Upper Reaches of Hell, headed by the one who had done it all -- “You?!”

“Be glad of this, Azgabail,” she whispered in her righteous fury, “that the betrayal of this contract would only bind you until I am gone and does not require your tongue,” she glanced down at his wide-spread legs, “or... other body parts in payment.” And with that, she dipped her pen in the mixture of their blood and signed her name at the bottom of the contract.

Sylendias held Azgabail’s blue eyes in her own as she pushed the Contract and the vial of their blood across the magical barrier. The demon’s face was a study; a myriad of emotions from shock to fear to curiosity played across his angular features. He tilted his head as he studied her.

“You didn’t answer my second question,” he attempted to deflect her attention. She shook her head and rolled her eyes. 

“You answered it yourself with your reaction,” she stated firmly. “Besides, could the Demon Lord of Lies truly compare with a fount of the temptation of lust?”

He arched an eyebrow at the underhanded compliment, but he would take what he could get. “Well now, little goddess. This may be fun after all. And not lead to any parts of my form…” he glanced down, “being removed.”

He dipped the pen into their mixed blood and signed his name next to hers.

“We have an accord, Goddess.”

The ink sparkled and fizzled; the scent of brimstone and starlight filling the air. Sylendias nodded and with a wave of her hand, the magical barrier separating them disappeared. He held out the rolled-up parchment and pen. She accepted them and placed them into her Bag.

“Shall I keep this?” he asked teasingly, picking up the vial of their mixed blood. He held it to his nose, inhaling the strange scent. “Hmmm...” He let his eyes rake up her body and she had no problem imagining what he was thinking.

“Please, Azgabail,” she said, holding out her hand. “I have the stopper here.”

He pouted; she wondered how such an innocent look could bleed so much sexuality. He passed the vial over, though, and she had it safely stoppered and in her Bag before he could truly object.

“Shall we?” she asked, picking up her strange marble sword. The demon drew himself to his full height, his deep crimson wings flaring behind him.

“We’re off to see the Lich.”

\------

The bard accepted the tankard of mead offered to him by one of the many barmaids. He raised it in thanks, took a single sip, then set on the floor beside him. He fell silent.

“Don’t keep us waitin’!” hollered a voice from the audience. “What h’ppens next?!”

“Yes, please!” pleaded a young woman from the front, eyes glistening and hands on her chin. “What happens?”

“Do you wish for me to continue?” the bard asked, running a hand over his long white hair, looking out over the audience.

“YES!” came the thunderous reply. He held up his hands and the audience immediately quieted down again. The silver rings on his fingers flickered as he gestured for them to draw closer and pay heed. 

  
“With the Contract thus signed by them both, they stepped forward - deeper into the Lich’s dungeon.”

\------

As they moved to the door on the other side of the room, Sylendias hefted her marble sword to rest across her golden shoulder armor. 

Azgabail regarded her with keen interest. “There are five floors, we are but on the second.” Sylendias nodded, giving him a small smile. He tilted his head in a disarmingly playful manner. “The Contract specifies that I only take you to Ainz. Why is this?”

“I do not wish to force another person to fight for my own ideals,” Sylendias said as they paused before the doors. “Ainz must be stopped, but I do not wish for others to put themselves in harm's way.”

Azgabail looked upwards and raised an eyebrow with a knowing smirk. “Then, please explain why there are still sounds of battle from above.”

“They were already storming the tomb,” Sylendias said quietly, looking upwards with a fond look tinged by sadness. “I merely talked them into not following me.”

“Truly?” he snorted. “We shall see if those ideals remain so steadfast in the trials ahead, little goddess.” He grasped the handles and turned them. “And what rewards I might gain for coming to your assistance.”

Sylendias managed to roll her eyes without a hint of a blush in spite of Azgabail’s lecherous grin as he ushered her into the next hallway. The carpeting from previous rooms was no longer to be seen, giving way to carved stone masonry. The hallway was dimly lit, but that didn’t hide the four suits of armor positioned at either end of the hallway with halberds held at the ready. 

“I am a Goddess of my word,” Sylendias smiled, snapping her fingers. The hallway burst into glittering magical motes. Sylendias’s eyes swept about, noting that the magic seemed mostly illusionary and mostly focused on the suits of armor. 

Azgabail leaned against the door frame, arms crossed about his chest in just the right position to show off his pectorals and tattoos. It was one of his best poses. “We shall see.”

She looked at him and blinked slowly. He felt a little twinge against his mind - a feeling flooded him. It felt like an extra ward of courage to save against being frightened. He snorted. _Did she think she was subtle?_ He watched in amusement as she unclipped the strange and nearly destroyed boot from her belt.

She hefted it on high and, with a shout, threw the shoe towards the center of the room. The boot soared through the air in an unnaturally long arch before landing with a thud, unharmed, in the center of the hallway.

Azgabail doubled over with laughter, tears filling his eyes as he pointed a shaking finger at the bedraggled boot. ‘And what was that, dear Goddess?” he chortled. “Will you concuss the Lich? Shall I carry a ten-foot-pole in front of you?”

She laughed as well, shaking her head in mock embarrassment. “Well, you never know,” she stated, tossing her brilliant hair over her shoulder as she made as if she were gliding into the hallway. He watched as she suddenly stopped, planted her bare feet in the air, twisted her hips, and slammed her marble sword directly into the suit of armor to the right of the door.

He blinked in bewilderment.

The armor groaned and began to move but it could not dodge the Goddess’s surprise attack. The marble sword crunched into the armor, heavily denting it and chipping at the designs etched into the dull surface. The rest of the armor sets in the hallway came to life as well, each readying a halberd in her ( _and HIS_ ) direction.

She twisted her whole body and pulled the sword aloft before pointing an index finger to one of the helmed horrors moving towards them from the other side of the hallway and shouting, “Cease, and be still!”

The helmed horror collapsed to the floor with a loud clatter, the helm rolling until it came to rest against the wall.

“Oh, very dramatic,” Azgabail remarked from the door, shifting his weight to be standing upright. “Are you always like this?”

“It's a gift!” she exclaimed, looking back at him, her short cape of white and blue fluttering about her in the most dramatic fashion. He shook his head. She turned back to the helmed horrors as they moved as one towards them. 

Sylendias hefted her Golem Breaker and once more, twisted her whole body in midair to slam it into the now dented and very much moving suit of armor. The armor twisted as the decorations on the chest plate cracked and shattered. These helmed horrors were much the same as the ones on the floor above. She wondered just how many constructs the Lich had created. If she remembered correctly, the time spent on crafting one of these was extensive. Then again, as a Lich, she supposed he’d had nothing BUT time.

The suits of armor pressed in on her, the two that she was not slamming a sword into pointing their halberds directly at her. She prayed that her armor ( _it was newer and this was its first real test_ ) could stand it. They stabbed her with their weapons; two of the attacks bounced off, but the third managed to get underneath her armor. The sharp point slipped underneath her golden half-plate and gored her in the side.

She gasped, but grit her teeth. She pointed to the armor that had managed to score a hit and snarled, “Cease, and be still!”

The armor shook before also collapsing to the ground, the helm rolling away to rest against the foot of another helmed horror. It was smashed flat by its fellow’s advance towards Sylendias. Sylendias managed to raise her weapon again before the helmed horrors made another stabbing attempt. They both stabbed her and the ringing of their weapons against her armor echoed in the small hallway.

Azgabail’s eyes narrowed and he _moved_.

Sylendias slammed her Golem Breaker into the suit of armor right in front of her once more. With a shudder and a terrible creaking noise, the helmed horror exploded -- sending chunks of armor flying in every direction. She whirled about to slam her sword into the last one and only barely managed to stop herself from slamming the Golem Breaker into Azgabail’s ribs.

He stood there, the helm of the last horror held aloft in his grasp, the smoking and charred ruins of the armor scattered about his feet. He raised an eyebrow at her and smirked broadly. “Oops, it was fragile. Who would have guessed?” The look of astonishment on her face was well worth the extra effort, he thought. 

“Certainly not me,” Sylendias managed to say, staring at him. She lowered the Golem Breaker and looked about the hallway at the scattered and destroyed armor. She looked back at him and her smile shone. “Thank you, Azgabail.” 

The sincerity of her words made something deep inside of him twitch. He wasn’t doing this for sincere _thanks_.

“Now, now,” Azgabail smirked, tossing the helm away from himself, “surely you have a better way of thanking me than _that_.” His eyes locked with hers and he watched her cheeks color a very light violet. “Where’s my reward?”

Her smile became just a little too mischievous for his liking. “Since you did assist, above and beyond the outlined statements of the Contract, I suppose I do have to decide on a reward for you.” She floated towards him and he watched a little warily, if not hungrily. “Do you like surprises, Azgabail?”

He shrugged, an innocent smile playing on his lips. “Most. But not all.”

“For this reward,” her voice lowered to a husky tone that he hadn’t heard yet but sent a thrill through his loins, “may I ask you to close your eyes and open your mouth?”

He winced. _Remember what happened to Belial…_

“If not,” she continued, the husky tones of her voice throwing him off almost completely, “simply close your eyes and hold out a hand.” He watched her face for a moment or two, but the mischievous smile and hooded eyes never changed. He clicked his tongue and with a suspicious glare to the Goddess, closed his eyes and opened his mouth ever so slightly.

Sylendias suppressed a giggle at the demon’s hesitation, but her eyes still locked onto the fangs glinting in the daylight coming from her hair. They were sharp and dangerous but at the same time… She shook her herself and before she could question her own motives, reached into her Bag of Holding and pulled out a much smaller bag. From this bag, she pulled out a dark chocolate cookie and she popped it into the demon’s mouth with a cheerful, “Surprise!”

She did allow herself a laugh when Azgabail’s eyes popped open. She put the cookie bag away, smiling as he chewed slowly. 

“Well, that was...unexpected,” he said around a mouthful of chocolate and hazelnuts, “but not entirely unpleasant.”

\------

The pub burst into laughter, bards ribbing at each other. Several girls were giggling helplessly into their wine and more than a few popped pieces of bread, meat, cheese, or anything else on their tables into their dates mouths with loud laughter.

The bard on the stage chuckled, his deep voice rumbling. He reached down and helped himself to his mead once more. He only took a single sip again, but the barmaid refilled it anyway, reaching across the stage to do so. He thanked her with a warm smile and she felt a little thrill worm down her spine. She hurried away to the bar for the next round, but she kept glancing back over her shoulder at the tiefling bard on the stage.

“You see,” the bard said, the room quickly quieting down as soon as his mouth opened, “Sylendias is the Breaker of Chains, Protector of the Oppressed. She knew the haunted look of another slave when she saw one. She would never embarrass him by asking but she knew. And Azgabail had never been shown kindness -- especially not from a being such as her. Trust was not part of his vocabulary, but this strange celestial was worming underneath his layers of protection. He did not know if his black heart was truly moved by her, literally, sweet gesture, or if he were merely surprised, but one thing was for certain -”

\------

The cookie was delicious. Not that it satisfied any of the burning hunger that gnawed at him, but he had to admit, the flavors were very pleasant. He watched as Sylendias glided over to retrieve the boot from the center of the hallway. His eyes flickered to her side; the glitter of her plasmatic blood was already fading as her body knit the wound back together. It would glow white for a while yet, but there was something strangely entrancing about it.

She clipped the boot back onto her belt, wincing slightly as she did so. “Thank you, again, for your help, Azgabail,” she said quietly, turning to look at him.

“Yes, well,” he replies, a bit more somberly than she had expected, “I don’t get any rewards. Not if you’re dead.”

She arched an eyebrow. She hadn’t even gotten close to being in danger. She knew that they both knew that, and yet he still had acted in order to help her. “That’s strange,” she whispered to herself, still staring into Azgabail’s blue eyes. He flinched in her gaze for a moment, then strode past her, towards the opposite door.

“I’m bound to your service, Goddess. Come, let’s continue.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” she said, shaking herself from her reverie. “Lead the way, Az.”

He froze. She almost flew right into his back. He whirled about, towering over her, wings spread to their fullest extent, fangs bared and snarling.

“Do NOT presume to name me like some infantile pet!” he raged. “I am a dark creature from the depths of the abyss, I have wrent souls from their willing flesh.” He loomed over the Goddess, barely holding himself back from attacking her. “I. AM. NOT. A. PET!”

Her hands immediately rose in a placating gesture, shaking her head. “No, no, of course, you’re not,” she hurried to reassure. “My apologies, it was a slip of a habit. It shan’t happen again.”

“See that it doesn’t, godling,” he snapped, turning his back to her. He stormed to the end of the hallway and yanked open the door with little ceremony. He gestured for her to move, still not looking back at her. 

Sylendias flew forward quickly. She hadn’t meant for that old habit to slip into her speech with him. She shook her head ruefully; she supposed that some habits were much harder to break than others… She passed by him quietly to enter the next room. 

She noticed that this room was much larger than the previous two rooms, with the carpet from the first floor and the carved stone from the previous two. The room was lined with desks, covered in alchemical reagents, artificer tools, and papers. The papers were everywhere; some were tacked up on the walls, some were spread across the desks, and papers mixed with torn up books that littered the floor. She flew over to investigate the closest desk to her, following the trail of paperwork and slowly floating down the line as she followed the pattern laid out in the papers.

Azgabail stood in the doorway, leaning heavily against the doorframe. His wings were tucked tightly against himself and for once, his eyes weren’t following every move made by the Goddess. He curled in on himself, somehow looking smaller than he ever had.

Sylendias ran a finger down a page and stopped halfway down. “So, that’s what he’s doing with them…” she said aloud, reading the sections on Equivalent Exchange. “What is he sacrificing?” She came upon another section that made her eyebrows rise. “And what is he creating?”

Azgabail scoffed, finally looking into the Artificer Study. “Mortals,” he drawled, eyes finding the Goddess and latching onto her form. “Always so obsessed with holding onto their lives, even after they are forfeited.” He pauses for a brief moment before firing one last word at her back. “Pathetic.”

His barb went right over her shoulder as she found what she was looking for in the papers.  
  
“Creating a soul,” she muttered beginning to dig in her Bag. She turned slowly in the air and looked up at him. “Really, though, can you blame them?”

Azgabail’s glower was very unimpressed.

“Life… it’s just so terrifyingly short. There’s so much to do and to fill a mortal life with, that-” she broke off, her look of concentration deepening as her hand pressed deeper into her bag. By this point, her entire arm had disappeared into the Bag. _Just how deep is that thing?_

“And what, pray tell, are you doing?” Azgabail’s words were harsh, but his tone betrayed his curiosity. 

“Looking for something -- ah-HA!” she crowed in triumph, pulling an old book from the depths of her Bag. It was smaller than a spellbook but thicker than one of the entertainment novels that graced cheap and cheerful carts in a marketplace. She opened the thick leather cover and began leafing through the yellowed pages. “I still don’t know why the author couldn’t be bothered with an index,” she said aloud. Azgabail was unsure if she were speaking to him or not. Her mouth began to form the numbers of the pages as she flipped and Azgabail couldn’t help but watch. “Ah, Lich!”

Azgabail’s smirk grew. “And you just...carry that around,” he commented, gesturing at the book with amusement.

Sylendias nodded, reading the entry very carefully, her finger flowing down the words. “And why wouldn’t I?” she teased right back, flipping the book closed. Azgabail flared his wings and darted forward swiftly to snatch the book from her hands before she could put it into her Bag. He floated away from her, a smug look etched firmly on his face. “If you wanted to see that, you needed only to ask,” she commented, nose twitching slightly.

“Well, make it harder next time,” he taunted, starting to flip through the yellowed pages. “Now, let’s see...a passage on fire goddesses…”

“I hate to be technical, Azgabail, but my classification is SUN goddess,” she teased lightly as she made a darting grab for the book, “and good luck finding it in there!”

He spun out of her grasp and flew in the opposite direction, still flipping through the pages. “Ah-ah-ah, little godling. If you want something from me, I require a reward.” He spread his wings and hovered high above her head, lounging in the air. “And for the moment, this book is in my possession.” He continued to flip through the pages. “At least until I discover the lore that I seek.”

She didn’t go after him again. Instead, she sat cross-legged in the air, watching him paw through her book. “Very well,” she said indulgently. “Good luck with your search. That book was written before Sylendias.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her, slowly turning the pages over. “Yes, but what came before Sylendias? Who _is_ Sylendias?” He watched as her face schooled itself into a very carefully crafted mask of neutral amusement. “Pertinent questions, no?”

“What came before Sylendias?” She echoed, her features betraying almost nothing. Which, of course, was telling in and of itself. For a Goddess of many expressions, remaining neutral was not a strong point of hers. “I’m sure you already know part of the story.”

“Gensai,” Azgabail intoned, a finger coming to rest on a page. “Now, how are those born?” He glanced up to see Sylendias’s hair begin to behave more erratically. _Such a telling feature_. “Interesting…”

“I suppose… that might be a little obvious, isn’t it?” Sylendias tried her damndest to keep a lid on her emotions. He was asking and prodding in just the right ways. She tried to set her walls up, to deflect. But Azgabail was on the hunt.

“Similar features,” he drawled, eyes raking up and down her form. “Similar personalities…” His lecherous smile became more sinister, curling upwards at the corners in a way that made her shudder. “You _were_ of fire and ash, weren’t you?”

Sylendias didn’t answer him. What could she say with her hair blazing behind her in a flamboyant display of emotion?

“Children of Efreeti or Elementals,” he read aloud, finger running down the page. “Well, well, well, little daughter of Genies. Look at you now.” His eyes met hers and his smile was truly a wicked one. “Your father must be so proud.”

“I’m sure my mother is,” she answered as shortly as she could. “After all, she’s the one who raised me.”

He smirked and arched an eyebrow. “Ah, your mother,” he chuckled, a joyless sound that seemed more like a hiss, “so your father is a sore spot. Must be the Efreeti, then.” He shook his head in mock sympathy. “Truly a barbaric race of slave-traders, and _a daughter_ , no less.” His eyes found hers and held them. “What could have happened to you…”

Sylendias flinched back as his conscious mind caressed hers with a message. “ _You can end this. Just give me what I want._ ” Sylendias’s hair ceased to move as a wall of light went up around her mind. Azgabail had already retreated; his eyes still held hers as they flashed with a myriad of colors before ending back at white.

“You are good at this, aren’t you?” she said quietly, running her hands through her hair. “Very well, oh great demon of lust. What do you want in exchange for my book and the dropping of this particular subject?”

He wagged a finger at her, eyes staring hungrily. “Remember your terms, little goddess. I cannot ask. Only you may give.” His words hissed out as his lips curled in triumph. “So, _give_.”

“I suppose you won’t settle for another cookie,” she said with a shake of her head. Azgabail’s answering eye roll was all the answer she needed. “I thought not.” The silence and stillness stretched out between them.

Azgabail practically drooled as she reached up and undid the clasp of her cape, letting it fall to the side and expose most, if not all of her body to his gaze.

“Azgabail, I give to you a short time in which to grope as you will,” she paused, “ABOVE the clothes.” 

He shut the book and darted over to her. He dropped the book at her feet, eyes locked onto her exposed skin and curvaceous form. “Generous goddess,” he hissed into her ear as his hands latched onto her hips. She gasped and her knees almost immediately buckled, but he held her fast. He slid his hands up her sides, feeling her tremble as his magic took effect. 

“Ahhh-!” she moaned aloud, eyes glazing over with lust.

Azgabail couldn’t help himself; he slowly peppered feather-light kisses across the exposed skin on her shoulders. _By all the fiends in Hell, she is delicious…_ He pulled her essence from her with every kiss, every handful, every moan. It filled him and filled him well.

Sylendias fought the raging waves of lust crashing through her. The euphoria his touch inspired drove almost every rational thought from her mind. All she could sense and feel were his fingers sliding on her skin, the almost gentle caress of his palms, and nobody had ever -- nothing had ever -- _it could feel like this?_ But it was just his magic … _wasn’t it?_

Azgabail pouted as she suddenly pulled away, gasping for air. He stood back, watching as her still shaking hands picked up the book and shoved it back into her Bag.

“Your energy…” he commented, tongue running across his fangs, “I could get used to it.” How often was it that a demon got to taste celestial energy? Not often. He would take every advantage he could get.

“Lucky you, then,” she managed to quip back, straightening her cape and running fingers through her hair. “We have at least two more floors to climb and plenty of time.” She tried to ignore how she could still feel the compression of his fingers through her clothes and the hot trails of his touch across her skin. She flinched slightly as the wound in her side suddenly ached. “Ugh.”

His blue eyes flickered to her side and quickly away again. He would _not_ apologize.

\------

The bard paused and reached down for his mead. The audience had grown; the suspiciously quiet but full pub had attracted many passersby. They filled the back of the pub, and only now, when he paused, did any of them manage to catch the attention of the barmaids or bartender. There was a sudden flurry of activity and an explosion of noise as people realized that they had food or drink that was far past the preferable consumption temperature. Still, they ate and drank quickly as the spell the bard wove suddenly lifted.

For just a brief moment.

With a smile that was almost a smirk, the bard twisted the holy symbol between the fingers of his free hand.

His little impromptu fan-club at the front (consisting of one very drunk man, two rather drunk elves, one bard who was taking notes, and three starry-eyed barmaids) watched with rapt attention. The one who had been taking notes thought that she saw something familiar, but she couldn’t be sure. After all, why would a tiefling have _that_ symbol? She made a quick note, just in case.

The empty tankard hit the stage and one of the starry-eyed barmaids practically threw herself across the wooden slats to grab it. She dashed off to the bar with her prize. 

He shook his head with a fond smile, golden medallion flashing in the dim lights burning low on the tables and walls.

The barmaid came hurrying back, her bodice suddenly tied much tighter and her hair loose about her shoulders. She leaned over the stage lip, her cleavage on full display as she held out the tankard for him. He smirked and accepted the tankard.

“What did she do next?” the barmaid asked quietly, eyes shining in the lights. “When did he know?”

The bard took one sip of the tankard and lifted it in thanks to the maid before setting it back down beside him. The pub instantly quieted; everyone looked to him.

“Sylendias was surprised to find the wound in her side to ache after Azgabail’s feast. She really should have realized that incubi take life force, and he had drained quite a bit from her.”

\------

She pulled open the mouth of her Bag and rooted about for a few moments before lifting a vial of a viscous red healing potion from the depths. She made a face as she uncorked it. “Pity sugar makes it useless,” she muttered before drinking the contents of the bottle as quickly as she could. As soon as she could breathe again, she coughed and gagged, making several faces that made Azgabail laugh aloud.

“Oh, yes, get your energy back,” he drawled as he walked by her towards the closed door on the other side of the room. “You’ll need it.”

She made another face, this time definitely in his direction, before stoppering the empty vial and shoving it back into her Bag. Another moment, and she had pulled out another vial filled with a grainy clear liquid. She unstopped it and took a deep swig of it.

“And what,” he asked, a single eyebrow arching, “sort of tonic is that?”

She wiped the back of her mouth with the edge of her cape before replying, “Moonshine.” She stoppered it as Azgabail laughed. “It certainly tastes better than healing potions.”

“Delightful,” he smirked. “Now, unless I’m getting more rewards, shall we continue?”

Sylendias nodded, tying the strings of her Bag closed. She picked up her Golem Breaker and hurried after Azgabail’s quick footsteps. “Yes, please.”

Azgabail threw open the next door with a flourishing bow and a mocking smirk. “M’lady?”

Sylendias looked through the doors to behold a strange sight for the middle of a tomb. A grand, glittering ballroom with all the trimmings; expensive carpets upon the floor, a long table filled with an enormous feast, gentle ballroom music echoed from the higher recesses of the chambers. It was so delightful, but without a soul to be seen, Sylendias felt the little hairs on the back of her neck standing up.

“....hmm,” she said, tilting her head back and forth to look the room over fully. “I...did not expect to see this here.”

“Nor did I,” Azgabail said from behind her. “I have no memory of this room.”

“And right after the Artificer study?” Sylendias said quietly, staring at the feast laid out upon the table. “It stinks of a trap.”

“And here I got the fragrance of roasted quail.” Azgabail’s sarcasm made Sylendias roll her eyes but she still couldn’t hide the amused smile that crossed her face. She pointed to the tiles before them on the floor and spoke a soft incantation. Nothing happened. Azgabail leaned against the doorframe, watching the goddess think.

She twitched her nose and unclipped the boot from her belt.

“Oh, here we go,” Azgabail muttered with a shake of his head. That stupid boot.

“Eeeyah!” she shouted as she threw it from her as fast and as far as she could. The boot sailed through the air, much further than it truly should have -- held aloft by power not its own. Just as it was to land in the center of the table and ruin the main course, it bounced off of an invisible barrier and fell off to the left side of the table.

“Huh!” Sylendias said, blinking. “What do you think of that?”

Azgabail glanced at the offensive boot and his eyes fell to looking at Sylendias’s feet. They were _tiny_. Must have been, what, a size five? If she ever wore shoes, in any case. “Eh, barefoot suits you better,” he said offhandedly.

She looked back at him, confusion written all over her features. “What?”

“What?” He blinked and shrugged at her.

“I-I thought-” she started, but then she shook her head and turned back to the grand ballroom. Azgabail didn’t miss the light tell-tale violet coloring of her cheeks.

“I wonder…” she said, flicking a small ball of brimstone and powdered iron into her hand. She aimed it at the table. “To whom it may concern,” she breathed over the small bit of firestarter before flicking it towards her target. The fireball roared into life and struck the table exactly where she wished it to. The explosion was deafening and the light was intense. 

The table stood there, feast completely unaffected -- although the surrounding carpet was aflame.

“Aww, now look,” Azgabail chuckled, “you’ve ruined his decor.” He placed a hand over his heart and fluttered his eyelashes at Sylendias. “Truly, you are a bringer of justice in this fallow land.”

“Smartass.”

His eyes widened. _Did she just-?_

“What was that, little goddess?”

“Smartass!” she snapped again, frowning terribly. He couldn’t help the snerk that bubbled from his lips. She glared at him and turned back to the grand ballroom. “My boot!” It was then that he saw the burning sole.

“It hath served thee well,” he mocked, pretending to play a funeral march upon an invisible trumpet.

She flushed brightly, flying into the center of the room. He swaggered after her, eyes locked on.

Sylendias felt his eyes burning holes in her cape. She tried to suppress the shudder that snaked down her back as her very soul ached for that euphoria he’d flooded her with. Was she disappointed with herself? Or was she disappointed that his hands weren’t on her right now? _Or did she just…? No. Not now._

She steeled her spine as she looked past all the elegant trappings that reminded her of another life and towards the elegant pair of double doors at the end of the ballroom. She reached up and pulled a small silver coin from her breastplate.

“Heads or tails?” she called over her shoulder to Azgabail without looking directly at him.

“I don’t know,” he said snidely, “how _is_ your head?”

“It’s-” she started before stopping herself. She almost walked into _that_ one. “I wouldn’t know, I don’t have one.” she sniped back at him.

“A goddess that has no head?” Azgabail laughed, shaking his head. “Truly, a dark day for this land.”

Sylendias ignored him and flipped the coin high into the air. She caught it and flipped it into her palm. “It’s tails, anyway.” She began to fly towards the left set of doors.

Azgabail trailed after her, watching her hair stream behind her and her cape flutter. The short cape didn’t hide his quarry from his view, though. For such a short figure, she had ample...assets. “I don’t mind some tail either,” he suggested with a lewd smirk. She flashed a look back at him. He licked his fangs slowly; did she think she was being subtle? She blushed easier than any he’d ever met. And yet ...the possibilities of that _mouth_.

“You know what? Me neither, Azgabail.”

He nearly stumbled. _That is underhanded, goddess._ He grinned very wide. _So it’s a game she wants...I can oblige._

“Well, then, why not right here?”

She floated in front of the left set of doors. “As much as I’d like you to take me right here on these stairs, I have a job to do,” she sniped, reaching out and dispelling the magic locking mechanism. “You’ll just have to wait.” Her hands reached for the handles.

Snapping from his lustful musings, he realized too late -- _that’s the wrong door._ He darted forward, hand extended, but Sylendias had already opened the doors to reveal a yawning black void of nothingness, hungry and empty.

“Wrong door, Azga-!”

And with that, she was sucked into the darkness. The last thing Azgabail saw disappear into the void was her outstretched hand of daylight, reaching back for him.

\------

The pub gasped almost as one. The bard held up his hand placatingly. “She doesn’t stay there,” he said reassuringly. 

“What?” asked the closest member of his impromptu fan-club.

“I’m only saying this because you look nervous.”

Bards and patrons alike realized that they were tensed and anxious. More than a few took to their drinks but kept staring at the bard with hearts pounding in their doublets.

“I’m not nervous,” said the drunkest member of his fan-club, thinking that he was talking directly to him.

“Are you sure?” the bard said with a large smirk. “Because we can stop here.”

Several cries of “No!”, and “Don’t you dare!”, and “NO!” came roaring back at him. He pressed the yells back with the palms of his hands.

“All right, all right. Where was I?”

“She just got sucked into the void!” the barmaid yelled out, waving a hand at him. “And he was watching her hand disappear!”  
  
“Ah, yes,” he said with a flirtatious wink, “thank you so much.”

\------

Sylendias floated in complete darkness. She struggled to move, but no movement propelled her in any direction. The darkness pressed on every side. It overwhelmed every sense. She pressed her hands to her face. Not even the daylight that wreathed her hands could break through the ever chilling darkness. Chilling?

She let out a long low breath. She was sure she’d see it turn into vapor in the air…if she could see. She curled in on herself as she felt the air in her own lungs slowly start to chill her. She was _cold_. For the first time in her life, she understood what being cold meant. Cold wasn’t the opposite of heat; it was the absence of it.

She would have cried if her tears hadn’t already frozen.

Her eyes slowly shut. The darkness consumed her.

Terrible memories from her past echoed through her mind without restraint. The fear of those days felt just like the cold that slowly froze her inner fires down to embers. She flinched -- the sharp sounds of fresh whip cracks echoed in her mind.

Something broke through the replay of terror and subjugation. A pair of storm-blue eyes gazing at her with naked lust sparkling in them. She’d never feel anything again. Not the thrill of his gaze nor the fire of his touch. She’d been taught that desire was for her Master or Husband ( _not that there was a difference between them_ ). Not for her; not for a slave. It wasn’t…. it had never….

Would _everything_ feel good with him? Every touch, every caress, everything that had never… The part of her that ached for his touch trembled with longing. The other part of her that argued caution warned her that it was his magic. _….did she even care if it was?_

Not that it mattered anymore.

Time meant nothing in the void. She could have floated for eternity or only for a moment. She didn’t know.

It was getting hard to breathe….

That’s when a hand reached through the blackness and grasped ahold of her cape. It yanked her from the void. She hit the stairs. She gasped in the fresh(ish) air, temporarily blinded as her eyes fought to adjust to the now-bright lights from overhead and her own head. When she could finally see basic shapes, she saw the form of Azgabail struggling to close the double doors. He’d gotten one closed, but the second door resisted his efforts.

She reached out with both a shaking hand and a shaking mind. Through the fog of cold, she reached. Something grabbed a hold of the door; she wasn’t sure if it was her mind or her hand. She pulled with all her strength in her shaking limbs. Somehow the door began to close.

Azgabail pulled.

She pulled.

The door slammed shut and the powerful sucking void was locked behind the magical doors once again. Azgabail collapsed onto the stairs next to the Goddess. He glanced at her; shaking, frost dusting her skin. Her eyes and hair were dull, almost lifeless. She curled up into a small ball before his eyes. Her milky eyes looked up and found his.

“A-g-b-bail?” she managed around her chattering teeth.

“Perhaps next time,” he hissed through his own pain, clutching at his mangled and frostbitten arm, “you will ask me for additional magical assistance.”

Her eyes darted down to his arm. “Assgbail!” she shuddered. He tried to push it out of her sight. 

“Never mind that,” he deflected, sitting up slightly. “Catch your own breath.”

Her shaking hands pulled and pulled at her Bag’s strings. Her numb fingers couldn’t grasp the silken strings and fumbled with the knots. He reached over and with a single long nail, undid them all. She nodded to him and reached in. She pulled out potions of blue and green; she pressed them both into Azgabail’s hands.

He pushed them back. “I need them not. Take your medicine, I will be fine.”

“I-I cah-cahn’t c-c-cast a healin’ spell,” she stammered through her warming vocal cords. “T-take th-them!”

“I do not need your pity,” he snapped, refusing them once more. “I will heal later.”

“I-It’s m-my fau-fault!” she cried, eyes beginning to sparkle as her tears unfroze. “It’s not p-pity! I’m con-con-con _cerned_!” She shoved them back into his hands. “Take the damned potions!” She fell into a coughing fit with that final outburst, smoke and vapor leaving her lungs as her embers slowly reignited now that the suffocating cold was no longer outside and inside her.

He held onto the potions. Technically, this had been _his_ fault. He was supposed to be guiding her through this place, he had failed, and she was still trying to claim responsibility? _What a strange woman._

“Concerned?” he asked quietly, handing her back the green potion but keeping the blue one. “For me? A demon?” He watched her carefully as she cradled the green potion in shaking hands. “If I had not proven myself useful, would you still be concerned?” Her shaking was dying down.

Sylendias clutched the potion in her hands as if she could absorb it through osmosis. “Y-You don’t have to be useful for-for me to be con-concerned,” she said, coughing as her lungs expelled the last of the melting chill. “I would have let you out of that ca-cage, Azgabail, you needn’t have charmed me.”

“I doubt that,” Azgabail scoffed, unstopping the Greater Health potion. “You have killed demons before, after all.” He downed the potion and hissed as the deadly cold left his limb, and his skin and muscles knit back together. A few twinges as nerves rewrote themselves under his skin and he was healed. He had stopped the bottle back up before Sylendias spoke again.

“The only demon I’ve ever killed,” she said quietly, staring into the depths of the potion, “was that child-fucker my father sold me to.”

His eyes flashed to her and he breathed a low breath. “Sold...by your own father. How…” he swallowed the _‘tragic’_ he’d almost said and instead said, “I don’t believe for a moment that you have never killed another demon. Nor do I believe that you would have released me from that cage.” He rolled his eyes at her gaze. “Please, little godling. I am _evil_. A _demon_. You are not. I seduce, wile, thwart, _kill_ because that is who I am. If you believe anything else, you are a fool.”

_A pretty fool, but a fool all the same._

“Alright,” she acknowledged quietly, “I have never _knowingly_ killed another demon.” She pulled the stopper out of her potion, her fingers finally steady enough to handle fine motor skills. “Azgabail, who am I?”

“What?”

“I am Sylendias,” she said firmly, staring at the glittering green potion. “Breaker of Chains, Protector of the Oppressed. Nobody deserves to be enslaved.” The potion twisted in her hands as she looked him directly in the eyes. “No creature deserves a cage.” Azgabail flinched back slightly. “Make of that what you will.” She lifted the bottle and swallowed the entire potion. She pulled back with a look of disgust and shuddered as the potion worked its magic.

He watched as she put both empty bottles back into her unassuming Bag and shivered the last of the chill from her bones. She began to glow as brightly as she ever had before, but for once, he almost couldn’t look upon her radiance.

“I understand mortals,” he said quietly, still watching her. “I understand demons. But you…” Sylendias looked to him and he felt something buried far underneath all of his demonic nature tremble. “...you, I fail to fathom.” He stood, wings stretching in the air. “Come,” he said, holding out a hand for her. “Let us carry on.”

Sylendias grasped his ( _still slightly chilled_ ) hand in her own.

“Maybe,” she said with a teasing tone, “for your next reward, I will answer any question you ask me truthfully.”

He pulled her to her feet with ease, but his eyes were still somber and still, without the usual spark of lust. “‘Tis a dangerous game you play, little goddess.” The warning in his tone snaked down her spine.

“Well, life wouldn’t be any fun otherwise,” she teased, starting to fly back up the stairs. “Should we go back or attempt the other door?”

He shrugged non-committedly, waving a careless hand towards the other set of doors on the right. She nodded firmly and flew to them. He followed, lost in thoughts that befuddled him. The more he learned about her, the more he didn’t understand. He stood at the top of the right set of stairs, looking down at the goddess floating in front of the doors. She was looking up at him. “Yes?”

“What would you suggest, Azgabail?”

The answering smirk on his face was enough to make her heart start fluttering. She was in too deep, wasn’t she? He strode down the stairs with strong strides and with a gallant bow, took hold of the door handles.

“Well, since the stairs are not an option for now,” he said with a raking stare at the goddess, “allow me.” He began to glow with a hellfire aura. The hellfire raced down his arms, into his hands, and into the door. The poor doors never had a chance. They exploded in flaming wreckage, leaving Azgabail with melted handles. The flaming wreckage was quickly reduced to ash and he turned towards her, tossing the handles to the stairs behind them. “And now?”

Her huge grin and dancing eyes took him completely by surprise. She was beaming at him and golden light shone from her eyes. “That…” she said with a husky undertone that rippled right through him, “was HOT.”

“Quite literally,” he preened, tossing a stray lock of silver hair behind his horns. His fanged grin was a match for hers. “Hellfire Rebuke is ludicrously effective.” He noticed her gaze wandering down from his face to his chest. He popped the pecs a little more and watched her flush a little bit before her hand reached out as if to touch them.

“Are you alright?” she asked. He blinked and looked down. There was a minor wound there, with only a little blood.

“Pay it no heed,” he reassured her before leaning closer to her. Her hand was less than an inch from his exposed skin. “But I do like where your mind is.”

Sylendias blinked rapidly, looked up at Azgabail, looked back at where her hand was and quickly withdrew it. “I’m sorry-”

“I’m not,” Azgabail replied with a soft, husky voice. Sylendias shuddered where she stood. “Now, my reward?”

She froze in midair. 

“After all, you asked for assistance, and I provided,” his husky voice ran up her spine and wormed its way under her shields. “Didn’t I, goddess?”

“Yes,” she replied quietly, feeling her heart pick up speed. “Yes, you did.”

“Now, for my reward, I believe you said-”

“I would answer any question truthfully,” Sylendias nodded. She swallowed hard before looking up at him. “That is the reward I give to thee, Azgabail. One question, one truthful answer.”

Azgabail tilted his head. There were many questions to ask her. He smirked as his brain lit upon the exact one. What better time to ask it?

“Well, then,” he said with a fanged smirk that glinted in the light, “answer me this one question, little goddess. How badly do you want me? Right. This. Moment?” He watched as the carefully schooled features of the goddess crumbled into a blank stare. He moved closer, using his height to his advantage. Sylendias unconsciously backed up until her back was flush against the wall, still staring at him. He leaned an arm against the wall, wings spread wide to box her in. He could feel the heat radiating off of her body as she trembled. “Well? Goddess?”

Sylendias couldn’t speak. She couldn’t open her mouth. Thrice damn the tongue on him! Fuck! What could she even say?! She’d sworn to answer honestly, but...but...oh gods, _why?_ She swallowed hard, feeling him loom over her. This should be terrifying her. Backed up against a wall, pinned in without a way out, and an Incubus who wanted an answer from her. Instead...

“Well?” he asked again, leaning down to whisper the word into her ear. “Answer me.”

_Courage, Sylendias, have courage._

“If…” she licked her lips, “if we had the time and the place, I would want you to show me...I mean, I-” she stammered, the violet color rising so fast in her face, Azgabail was almost afraid of her fainting away on him. “-make me feel…” her voice trailed off and she looked up into Azgabail’s eyes. He was startled to see the glow of her eyes sparkling with a glaze of lust without having even touched her. “If...we had time.”

“Ah, ah, ah. How much?” he insisted, his own impatience rising up. He wanted to hear it from her lips. Not implied, or danced about. “How. Much?”

She was silent for a good moment. He was about to ask again when she whispered something that shot him straight in the core.

“I want you more than I thought it was ever possible to want someone or something.”

“Good answer," Azgabail said huskily, beaming at her claim. But he would not take her. Not yet. It would be... so... _easy_. All blushes and stammers, all hot body and hotter emotions. It wouldn’t even take much in this state. A line of kisses down her neck, a hand cradling the back of her head, the other on her lower back pressing her voluptuous body against his… she’d melt into him and he’d be able to take what he wanted. _And by the Fiends, he wanted it all…._ But he could be patient. He could wait.

“Azgabail?”

Her soft voice cut through his red-hot lustful musings. He blinked and looked down at the Goddess underneath him.

“I have answered your question.”

He gave a nod but didn’t stand back. She’s the one who broke free; ducking underneath a wing, her hair brushing against the leathery skin. The sensation tingled and Azgabail was still feeling it as they descended into the next hallway.

\------

The bard stood. The entire pub sat back on their heels and realized that they had been teetering on the edges of seats and tables. He walked to the edge of the stage and knelt down before the starry-eyed barmaid with the tight bodice. "May I trouble you for a plate of skewers?" he asked quietly. She blinked blankly at him for a moment before remembering that she was _supposed_ to be doing a job.

"Yes, yes, of course!" she said hurriedly, standing up. "Any preference?"

"Whatever you'd suggest," he said with a smile. "What's good?"

"Um, well, I'll bring you a variety of the best," she reassured him, rushing off towards the kitchens as the rest of the pub broke out into hubbub as the patrons realized that they were being afforded a break. He went back to the stool and winked at the bard who was still furiously taking notes.

"Enjoying the tale?"

The pretty bard looked up at the tiefling and the tiefling recognized the burning embers of passion that had been ignited in him the first time he'd heard the tale. “You don’t mind, do you?” she asked, gesturing at her notes spread across the small table.

“Not at all,” the tiefling responded, taking up his tankard. “It’s nice to see another believer.”

She shook her head. “I’m not sure if I believe yet,” she said, referring to her notes. “After all, he _is_ bound to her. And that should be against everything that she stands for.”

“Shhh…” he said with a knowing smile, lifting the tankard to his lips. “No fair guessing.”

\------

The stone hallway was long and straight, extending far beyond either of their dark vision. The carved stone rose above their heads and large alcoves were dotted all along the hallway at twenty-foot intervals. They began to move down the hallway, each lost in their own thoughts and fantasies. It took a few minutes before Sylendias noticed something strange about the floor. 

She flew a little lower and took a closer look at the point where the floor blended into the walls. She watched it carefully. She flew back down the tunnel and back up the tunnel. Azgabail watched her with a strange look on his face.  
  
“What goes down but then back up?” Sylendias asked, looking up to him. He shrugged rather eloquently.

“A rubber ball?” he guessed.

“That, and the floor,” Sylendias said, looking back down at the strange slope of the tunnel’s floor. “Well, and an erection.”

 _There was that bluster again._ Azgabail didn’t understand that; he’d already seen who she was. A blushing naive woman who was afraid of her own desires. So, why the pretense?

“We could fix it from ever going down again, should you wish it.” he leered, determined to press her further.

“Control your own erection,” she quipped with practiced ease, gaze following the slope of the floor for as far as she could see. “But, seriously, it’s as if the floor has been built to sluice fluids or have something slide down it.” 

“Hmmm…” he hummed. He watched as she stopped at the next alcove that they were to pass and run her hands along the back wall. She fit very well into the alcove. Hell, he could fit neatly into the alcove with little room to spare. She floated lower and examined the floor as well.

“This is strange too,” she said aloud, tilting her head with confusion. “Isn’t it?”

“What did you expect me to be?” Azgabail asked, blinking at her. “A dwarf? A stonemason?”

She pulled a large iron pot out of her Bag of Holding. “If you were a dwarf,” she started, “you’d be even shorter than me, and that wouldn’t be a good look for those abs of yours.” She dropped the pot without any ceremony. It clanged harshly against the floor, mixing with Azgabail’s laughter.

“If I were, you could show me under your skirts.”

“Damn,” she said, picking the pot back up. “Not booby-trapped.” She suddenly froze. She whirled about to look at Azgabail, confusion and more than a touch of embarrassment on her cheeks. “Well, that - I don’t ... _what_?”

“Being short might have some advantages after all,” he drawled in a manner that, while not out of place, was pushing aggressively against her defenses.

“Yes, yes, of course,” she managed, even forcing a chuckle before turning quickly and trying to fly away. He caught the bright violet that had blossomed on her cheeks, even in this dim light.

“So, all that bluster is just that,” he said, smirking as he followed her up the hall. “Bluster. At heart, you’re shy.” 

Sylendias sighed to herself. _You have no-one to blame but yourself, girl. You got yourself into this._

“Demure, even,” the demon continued, his movements more of active stalking than anything else. “You want more, and that _scares_ you.”

She paused in her flight. Her shoulders slumped as she sighed heavily. “That’s not...exactly true,” she attempted to defend herself. “It’s just ...leftovers. From a previous life.”

“Tell me the truth of it,” he coaxed, speaking softly to her. _Almost there…_ “Tell me the truth of Sylendias. Why does she blush so at her own desires?”

“I’ve already answered a question for you, Azgabail,” she said firmly, looking over her shoulder at him. “In any case, that story will have to wait until I have a warm meal and a bottle of elf wine. Celestials above, I know I’ll need it.” She started to fly forward once more, leaving Azgabail to trail behind her.

“It’s a shame, then, that we’ve left the banquet hall far behind,” he said, masking his own disappointment quite thoroughly. 

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’ve never been to the Fae Wilds, have you?”

“No, I haven’t,” he admitted cautiously, unsure of where this new line of conversation was going. 

“There are three rules to abide by in the Fae Wilds,” she continued, ticking the list off on her fingers. “First, greet everyone and everything. Secondly, never give any your name. Thirdly, never, under any circumstances, accept food that is lying out in open,” she shook her head with another laugh. “That’s a good way to find yourself cursed or changed.”

"Ahhh."

“I wouldn’t touch the food in that banquet hall for all the gold in Eberron. Besides,” she finished with a toss of her glowing hair. “I’m sure I can craft better.”

“Do you intend to cook a meal here, amidst the cold stone?”

“Well, I _could_ ,” she allowed, spinning about in the air to face him, “but you’re right. This isn’t the place or the time for such sentiments.” She flipped around in the air again, leaving him without the sunny smile on her face. They continued to walk the dark hallway in silence.

Sylendias watched as the incline slowly increased the further and further that they walked down the tunnel. This was most definitely not a decorative feature. Something was meant to slide down this tunnel, and the alcoves were the only way that one might be able to get out of the way. She thought of a torrent of water, rushing intruders away and smashing them against the stairs at the bottom. She thought of a vent and a lava tube being opened. She thought of quite a few ways for the hallway to be used, none of them pleasant.

With a downwards glance, she noticed how steep the incline had become. “It’s a good thing we can fly,” she commented to Azgabail. “Someone gravity-bound would be having a rough time about now.”

Azgabail made no comment as she flew into the double-doors.

She gave a cry of surprise and stumbled backward in the air. She stared up at the doors, rubbing her head.

“Want me to kiss it better?” Azgabail drawled. She shot him a small glare and returned to looking at the doors. They appeared mundane; no magical aura, no strange symbols. Just a large pair of doors. 

“Any ideas, Azgabail?” she asked quietly. He gave a shrug. 

“Usually, one _opens_ doors.”

She reached for one of the handles but pulled back before her fingers brushed the antiqued metal. “Perhaps we should stand to the side before we open these.”

Azgabail moved to one of the alcoves; he leaned against the wall with his best pose, stormy blue eyes watching everything that she did. Sylendias pulled a length of hempen rope from her Bag. She tied one end to the door handles and flew to the opposite alcove with the other end firmly in her hand. “Are you ready?” she asked him. Azgabail just shrugged, pectorals popping with the gesture.

She gave a firm nod and yanked on her end of the rope. The doors flew open and an enormous boulder came crashing through them, hurtling down the hallway. Just as the boulder passed, the alcove floors all triggered and swiftly retreated. Sylendias watched as Azgabail, unable to spread his wings, dropped out of sight with a shout.

“Azgabail!” she shrieked as she dove across the hall, hands outstretched. 

There was a dull, resounding THUD from much further down the hall.

Her hands plunged down into the hole that Azgabail had disappeared into and grasped onto his horns. “Az!” His wings had flared, slamming into the sides of the pit. His arms and legs were outstretched, fingers and toes grasping at the small ledges in the carved stones. He had barely managed to keep himself from plummeting down into the spikes that lined the bottom half of the pit. Sylendias kept a tight grip on his horns, trying to think. “Az, I have a ladder in my Bag, can you hold on?”

“Just,” he said slowly, “lift me up to the edge. I can take it from there.”

She nodded and started pulling. She wasn’t the strongest, but she managed to pull him far enough up so that his hands could grab the lip of the pit. His muscles strained but he pulled himself up and over the edge. Sylendias fought to calm her breathing and her heart. He began to brush himself off.

“Thank the light, I thought-”

He whirled around to face her and Sylendias shrank back from the fury in his eyes. “What,” he snarled, fangs bared and eyes glowering, “did we say about my being a _pet_?!”

“When- _what-_ I didn’t-”

“Don’t pretend!” he barked, looming over her. “You cannot trick me! You care only that your tool was to fall in the cesspit!” He wanted to grab her, to shake her. _To do damage._ “Do NOT make that mistake again.” He tilted her chin up with a clawed finger. “I only say this now without breaking your precious Contract because of your efforts to save me.” He jerked his hand away from her, uncaring if his claw cut into her flesh or not, and stalked away from her towards the open doors.

Sylendias stood, bare feet rooted to the cold stones of the hallway. They didn’t warm underneath her. Her hair fell limp and dull against her skin. Her eyes dimmed as they were filled with tears. She wouldn’t cry. No, she wouldn’t. She drew a shuddering breath and forced herself into the air again. She began to wind the rope about her arm to prep it for the depths of her Bag.

“When you’re ready, godling,” he called back from the top of the slope beyond the doors. “My anger subsides quickly.”

She glanced up at where he called from. She returned to winding up the rope. She heard the “ _pap, pap, pap_ ” of his bare foot beginning to tap on the floor. She finished with her rope and tied it off. The “ _pap, pap, pap_ ” became more impatient as she put the rope bundle back into her Bag. “I’m waiting!”

She slowly flew back up the tunnel and through the open double-doors. The boulder had obviously dropped from the hole in the ceiling when they had entered the hall all the way back where they had started. It had rested against the double doors, waiting for an unwitting person to open them and become squashed or smashed. The floor had another chute, far smaller than the actual boulder. This chute was dark with no sound and no light emanating from it.

She glanced down and couldn’t see the bottom of the chute. She shuddered at the darkness.

“Was I...too harsh?” Azgabail’s voice inquired from behind her. “In my chastisement.”

Sylendias turned to look at him. For once, he looked...well, it was probably the closest she’d ever get to seeing something like remorse on his face. It looked out of place and strange.

“No being,” he began, no hiss or snarl, or mocking tone, just...speaking to her, “has shown me true kindness.” His tongue fiddled with a fang as he fought to speak plainly. “You were truly concerned for me, weren’t you?”

Sylendias nodded. “I was,” she replied in kind, her voice quiet. “But you were correct in your chastisement.” She pulled the Bag’s strings apart. “You don’t trust me, and you don’t trust me for a reason.” Her arm plunged down into the depths. “You cannot trust anything I say or do because….I-I’ve broken my own morals, I can’t-” 

Azgabail’s eyes widened as she pulled their Contract out of the depths.

She turned to him and held the roll of parchment out in an open palm. “Do with it as you will.”

“Have you taken leave of your senses?” he demanded quietly, staring at the offering. “If you let me have that, I could attack you at any moment.”

“Nobody deserves to be enslaved,” she said, her arm still outstretched towards him. “I am the Breaker of Chains, Protector of the Oppressed. This Contract…” she looked at it and back to him. “This Contract...i-it’s another form of enslavement.”

He drew a shuddering breath, staring at the scroll wreathed in daylight. He could take it. Burn it. And take what he wanted from her. His eyes flashed up to her.

“I can’t hold you to this, Azgabail,” her voice dropped to a whisper as her emotions cracked through, “I know that you will more than likely attack me outright.” Her eyes sparkled through the tears building up in them. “After all, I am your oppressor.” Her entire body shuddered as she said the word. “I would fully deserve it.” She barely managed not to shake as Azgabail took the Contract from her palm. “Do as you will with it.”

Azgabail looked at the Contract in his hands. He turned it over and over.

The Contract ignited in his hands and burned into ash, releasing a huge multitude of sparks and the smell of brimstone and starlight. He brushed his hands off, his eyes rising to meet the glowing ones of Sylendias. She floated there, all incandescent sunlight and soft curves -- he thought he couldn’t fathom her. But, perhaps, he didn’t need to. _But still….just a taste of her glimmering essence..._

“Well,” he asked quietly, allowing an innocent and almost sweet smile to grace his features, “where’s my reward?”

She considered him. He hadn’t attacked her. Well, not yet, at least. He even seemed to be relaxed in a way that she hadn’t seen yet. He was….beautiful, like this. Shoulders loose, hair askew, eyes not only sparkling with lust but with naked curiosity. She would remember the half-smile on his face. It etched itself into her mind. She knew _what_ she wanted to give to him...but would he even want it? Would he even want her with no Contract between them?

“Azgabail, for your reward,” she said slowly, floating ever so slightly closer, “I want to give to you something that I've never given to anyone else. A first kiss.”

Her heart hammered in her chest at his face, now wide-eyed and mouth slightly askew.

“My first kiss.”

She was so close to him now.

“But I must give it to you, Azgabail,” she warned him gently. “You cannot take it.”

He raised a hand, eyes locked with hers. He placed a single finger upon her lips, and unlike the other times, there was no immediate rush of lustful euphoria. “You should give that to someone you love,” he said quietly, eyes dropping down to her lips. “I am not sure a demon can even love at all.”

“It has nothing to do with love,” she replied, not even daring to move lest he feel how hard her heart was pounding. “Consider it selfishness. Besides,” she continued, eyes running all over his face, “love is for opal-eyed romantics who sing to the stars and wait for the reply.”

“Selfishness?” he whispered, shaking his head slightly. “ _Selfishness_.”

 _Of course it was selfishness._ She wanted….she had to know. Would everything that he did feel…? The only word for it was _pleasurable_. It made her shudder and long, crave his hands, his touch, his gaze. Could it always be like that? Or was it just his magic as he used her for energy? If it was...if it always felt like that....gods be damned, she’d chase that feeling to the ends of Eberron and back.

“That is the reward that I offer to thee, Azgabail,” she said, suppressing a shudder at his whisper. “A Goddess’s one and only first kiss.”

His fingers moved to cup her cheek with such tenderness. “A goddess who doesn’t believe in love,” he said with a quietly amused tone, “and a demon helping a Celestial without a Contract.” He slowly pulled her closer to him. “Bards will write the sappiest of love songs about us.” She shivered as his warm breath dusted her cheeks. “Very well, I will have my reward.”

She reached up and cupped his face with her hands, marveling at the smoothness of his sculpted features. “What do bards know anyway?” she whispered before pulling him the rest of the way to her. 

\-------

The bard paused and bent down for his drink, the empty plate now serving as an impromptu coaster for the tankard. The pub erupted around him.

“I told you it was love!” One bard exclaimed.

His fellow shoved him off of his seat. “She doesn’t even believe in love, it can’t be!”

“It’s love, it’s gotta be! Why else would she want him?” another voice cried.

“It’s like a drug, innit? She’s addicted to the feelin’, ain’t she?” replied a dwarven patron (nobody knew when they’d slipped in).

The bard who had performed first that evening had set his mug down and buried his head in his hands, wailing about the power of a first kiss and how devastatingly romantic it was. His friends attempted to get him to quiet down, but their efforts only made him wail louder.

Several people fanned themselves with trembling hands while others attempted to cool themselves off with fresh drinks. The barmaid fiddled with the strings on her bodice, refusing to leave her seat even when one of her fellow workers literally pulled at her shoulders.

The tiefling sipped contentedly at his mead. Two of the bards had even begun a fist-fight in the back of the pub over whether or not it was possible to fall in love so quickly. The tankard hid his delighted smirk from all but one.

\-------

Her lips met his -- softly at first, but as the euphoria began to rush through her, it became deeper and deeper until it was dizzying, breathtaking, too much and not even close to enough all at once. Her hands moved to wrap around his neck, one hand even tangling in his hair as his hands roved across her body, igniting all of her nerves.

One hand of his found its way to her lower back and his fingers splayed out wide, pressing her body flush against his. The other roved where it would; she felt it trailing down her neck, brushing along the edges of her breastplate, pressing against her hip. She became pliable in his hands; she was almost bent in half from the pursuit of his lips and she cared not.

She could only hold onto him as they rode the wave of lust together. His hand rose to cup her cheek again as he devoured her. He wanted it, he wanted all of it, he wanted all of _her_. It didn’t take much to get them to the floor. She was putty in his hands and every lovely soft hot inch of her skin was his to touch. She followed his lead more than willingly.

With her spread out underneath him, he could use both hands to explore her body. Slowly. Never taking his mouth from hers, his hands teased at the edges of her armor ( _which made her shudder_ ), slid down her sides ( _which made her squirm_ ), and began to undo her belt.

That made her gasp and as she gasped, the kiss broke. “Azgabail?”

He turned his attention to her lovely neck. His lips kissed, his fangs nipped, and she _shuddered_ beneath him.

“Azgabail.”

With one hand shoving aside her belt, the other moved up towards her golden half-plate armor straps. They simply had to go.

“Azgabail!” she shouted, grabbing hold of his face and forcing him to look at her. He stopped everything and stared into her eyes of sunlight.

“What?” he breathed, a hand still trailing across her trembling skin. 

“We don’t have the time,” she said, her breath heavy in her lungs. “We don’t have the time.”

“We can always _make_ the time,” he growled playfully into her ear, giving it a light nip. She squeaked and he loved the sound.

“Azgabail,” she said, her body still flushed with everything roaring through her, “we have jobs to do.”

And with that, it all came crashing back down to Eberron. His head flopped down to rest on her shoulder for a moment or two. He groaned, his hands finishing their last trail across her skin. Sylendias shivered. The roar of his euphoria slowly died down throughout her body. Azgabail slowly pushed himself up, letting his fingers thread through her glowing hair and watching as it fell away. He winced as his hunger twisted his insides. _He hadn’t-?_ He looked back down at the Goddess beneath him and realized that she was quite literally glowing with life.

She watched as the dazed look on his face died away. He began to frown, his brows knitting as his expression darkened. “What is it?” she asked quietly, sitting up and beginning to buckle her belt back on.

“Do you know what I feed on?” he asked.

She readjusted her breastplate as she continued to try to put herself back together. “Sexual desire and energy, yes?”

“Life force,” he said quietly. Her head snapped up.

“Then -”

“By choosing to do that…” he said, eyes for once not raking over her as they had, a melancholy taking over those storm blue eyes, “with _you_ ...for _free_ , I starve.” The hunger twisted his insides once more. Sylendias saw it in his face and immediately flew upright, hovering in front of him with wide eyes. He couldn’t even appreciate how perfectly her chest was aligned with his eyes. “Sylendias,” he saw her face as he called her by her name for the first time, “what shall I do?”

They stood there, eyes locked, for a very long moment. Sylendias’s hands began to twist as she fidgeted and thought. Azgabail sighed and stepped back, running a frustrated hand through his hair. 

Sylendias suddenly stopped flying in circles and gasped. He glanced up at her. “I may have just the thing,” she said excitedly, pulling the drawstrings of her Bag open. He watched, eyes tracking her every movement. It was another moment or two before she pulled a vial of glittering white liquid from the depths. It shone with a light, not unlike her own. “This…” she said with triumph in her voice, “...is essence a la Sun Goddess.”

He blinked blankly at her. She shoved it into his hands, practically vibrating with excitement. “What _is_ this?”

“It is pure, unadulterated, essence of the Goddess of the Zenith,” she said with pride. “Note; it moves on its own.”

He stared into the depths of the vial. It was true, the glittering plasma seemed to move and swirl on its own. “Then, it lives?”

She bit her lip. “I do not know,” she said cautiously, watching the plasma. “I do know that it seems to act like it does, and it does not degrade. At least, it hasn’t so far.” She beamed at him, her excitement returning. “I have bottled it for alchemical properties, but if it can sustain you-!"

“Will consuming this...hurt you?” he asked quietly, eyes fixated to the glimmering essence of goddess in his hands. He was practically salivating. “And what of the creation?”

“I create it with artificer tools and alchemy formulas,” she said with a smile. “The rate of the creation depends on rest, food, and access to medical supplies.”

He winced in sympathy.

“As for hurting me,” she continued, covering his hands in hers, “from what I have tested so far, only the creation process can hurt. Although this will be the first test of consumption.” He felt her warmth flowing into him. “And this doesn’t work, I have plenty of health potions,” she said with a soft laugh. “I’m willing for you to take what you need in an exchange system.”

“Are you sure?” he asked quietly. “If this doesn’t work-”

“Azgabail, I swear to you, I will not let you starve,” she reassured, squeezing his hands. “I will do whatever I can do within my power to ensure this.” She released his hands and stood back to give him a little space. “Please, drink.”

 _How can I not with a promise like that?_ He uncorked the vial and, with just a moment’s hesitation, drank a mouthful. It warmed him completely and his hunger actually lessened. Sylendias also jolted upright, eyes widening in shock. “Goddess-!” 

“I’m fine,” she gasped out, waving a hand at him. “I’m fine! Please, does it work?”

He nodded, licking a fang before drinking a larger mouthful. She shuddered and practically writhed in the air. _Interesting...._ He took a mouthful, but only let a small trickle down his throat. She actually _moaned_. He began to chuckle, swirling the liquid around in his hand. 

“My, my, little goddess…” he drawled, watching as she shuddered in the air. “What an interesting discovery.”

“Just drink the damn thing already!” she practically shrieked. Their eyes widened in realization at the same time. He smirked and bowed. “No no no no, Azgabail, wait-!”

“As the Goddess commands,” he said with a giant, fanged grin. He lifted the vial to his lips and began to chug the essence within. 

Sylendias’s back arched as the flood of Azgabail’s euphoric lust crashed into her fully as he consumed her essence, overwhelming her completely. Her body twitched and arched as everything within her climaxed all at the same time.

“AaaaaaaaAHHHH _HHHHNNnnnAHHH!_ ” She would have fallen to the floor had Azgabail not darted over to catch her in his arms.

\-----

The tiefling bard paused. He cleared his throat and bent to grab his tankard. The crowd clustered around the stage dared not to move, even if the air was rather thick and their pants were rather tight.

The bard smirked lifting his mug to take an overly long sip. 

The crowd stared for a long time, blushed faces exchanging looks, but not a word broke the spell in the air. A rather drunk patron finally managed to find words again. "Well, den. Did ey _do_ et?" 

Raucous laughter erupted around the tavern and when it died down, the bard lifted his mug to the speaker -- when he spoke, his voice was full of mirth.

“Allow me to carry on.”

\------

Azgabail gently set Sylendias into the air. He stood back as she readjusted her garments and armor, shaking off the last of the trembling. "The vial?" she asked, holding out a hand. 

Azgabail shrugged and looked at the shattered glass on the floor where he'd once stood. "Alas, it did not survive."

Sylendias looked disappointed for a moment before shrugging. “That’s fine,” she said with a hip wiggle that made the Bag bounce, “I have plenty more.”

“Plenty of vials or plenty of Goddess essence?” Azgabail smirked. 

She shot him a teasing look. “That’s for me to know and for you to find out.” She artfully dodged his grab and darted out of his reach. “Ah, ah, ah, Azgabail. That’s cheating.”

“You have _met_ me,” he laughed, “and yet, you almost sound surprised.”

“If I _were_ surprised, you would have been able to take it,” she fired back, gliding to float over the chasm in the floor. Her gaze moved to the inky blackness that stretched below her. She looked back up at Azgabail who flared his wings wide. “Are you ready?”

“I could still take it,” he said quietly as their eyes locked. She felt his euphoric influence pound in her veins. “Any time, anywhere.” She knew he wasn’t talking about her Bag anymore. Her mind, dizzy with sudden lust, imagined every place that he could take her. Against a wall, down on the floor, even upon the ceiling. She blinked rapidly and shook her head. The imaginings did not leave but rather regulated themselves to the back of her mind. She found herself drifting towards Azgabail. She stopped herself, but only just. His eyes sparkled; he knew exactly what was going on. She broke their gaze and looked back down into the inky blackness.

_You’re in over your head, Sylendias..._

“After you, little goddess.”

She swallowed her response and began her descent, spiraling down the chute as if she were a seed on a warm breeze.

Through her dark vision, she watched as the smooth, carved stone of the passageway faded into rough-hewn stone. Her eyes darted around the irregular shapes, her grip tightening on her Golem Breaker. Whomever had created the floors above...had not created this. She was descending into the original tomb. She suppressed a shudder and squared her shoulders. She had to be ready.

She wondered if the other Celestials would be disappointed. They had warned her -- she could still hear their words in her head. They had warned her to be cautious, to _think_ before she acted and here she was, no Contract between herself and an Incubus and the Incubus’s influence pounding in her veins. But she _had_ to, they’d have to understand that. 

She continued to descend. The rough walls continued to pass her by.

Azgabail’s trust… he had to trust her in order for the plan to work. The Celestials would have to understand. It had nothing to do with her own feelings. She had to gain his trust and...that’s all. Wasn’t it? It was. 

_...I’m such a bad liar._

Azgabail was being unusually silent.

“Azgabail,” she began quietly, looking up, “why do you think that Ainz is trying to create-?”

He wasn’t there. There was nothing above her but blackness. “Azgabail?” There was no answer. “Azgabail!” She darted back up the chute.

Nothing changed. 

She flew as hard as she could, but Azgabail, the carved stone, or the top of the chute never reappeared. She stopped flying and cursed loudly. “Fucking dammit!” Her words echoed back at her. She floated in place, frowning terribly. “Wonderful.” she snapped, glaring at the walls that surrounded her. She twitched her nose. “At least it’s not cold this time, Sylendias.” She rolled her eyes at herself.

She flew to the wall directly in front of her and investigated the strange phenomenon. It took her a few minutes, but she came to realize that the rough-hewn wall patterns were repeated every five feet.

“It’s a loop.”

She tilted her head as she thought. She raised the Golem Breaker and tapped on the sides of the chute in all directions. It was all solid. Like walls usually are. She sat back in the air and crossed her feet under her. She was well and truly stuck. She sat there, fiddling with the handle of the Golem Breaker. Occasionally, she looked up and she looked down. There was nothing above or below except the same empty blackness.

“They were right about me,” she murmured, rubbing at her eyes. 

After several minutes of thinking, she sighed and snapped her fingers. A small ball of sunlight appeared in her hands. Within the light, she realized that the inky blackness that was above and below did not recede from the new light. With a triumphant noise, she clapped her hands and dispelled the little light.

She rose to her full ( _short_ ) height and shouted as loud as she could, “Azgabail! I don’t know if you can hear me or not, but please look away!” With that warning, she turned her face upwards and held her hands aloft as though basking in the sunshine. “ _Let the daylight within me shine bright,_ ” she spoke, her voice reverberating around her as a tiny sunspot appeared in the center of her chest. It rapidly expanded outwards to fill the space with her holy Radiance. The darkness was chased away, banished in her glow.

“FUCKING DAMMIT MY EYES!” came Azgabail’s shout from below her as he and a large pile of bones fell to the floor below. 

Sylendias, panting from the explosion of Radiance, dove down the mere twenty feet to the floor below. She landed next to Azgabail in the pile of bones.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorryI’msorryI’msorry!” she cried in a constant stream of apologies, hands hovering over Azgabail’s form and face. “I’m sorry!”

“Shit,” he said, hands covering his eyes. “Fuck. Ass. Twat. Dicks.” He pulled his hands away from his face and managed to open his eyes. Starbursts flared in front of his vision and Sylendias’s apologies doubled at the sight of his bloodshot and watery eyes. He blinked rapidly, tears running down his face until he could see her once more, hovered over him. “Hello, Sunshine,” he croaked, blinking rapidly in her glow. “Should I avoid direct eye contact?”

A trembling hand covered her mouth to try to hide the delighted smile that’d found its way. She couldn’t -- he-he called her Sunshine. Not little goddess or godling. Not even her name. _Sunshine_. The thrill that shot through her…. She didn’t care anymore. Damn the Celestials and their talk of caution. He, Azgabail, had called her _Sunshine_. The rest of the world could burn and she wouldn’t care. “I’m sorry,” she said again, her other hand hovering over his face and hair. “I-I didn’t know if you could hear me or not and I didn’t -- I’m so sorry!”

He kept rapidly blinking as he looked at her. With each blink, she exploded with star radiance again and nearly blinded him once more, but he couldn’t make himself look away. “No harm permanently done,” he reassured her, waving a hand. “I’ll be fine.”

“I can-”

“It’s alright, Sunshine,” he said, pushing to incline himself on his elbows. “I’ll be fine. Besides,” he glanced up at the chute, “you got us out of there. How long were we falling?”

“I’m not sure,” she said, finally placing her hovering hand on his shoulder. “Minutes? An hour?”

He grunted, still blinking rapidly. “I just stopped gliding after a while and just dove headfirst.”

“That explains the crash,” she said, thumb brushing reassuringly against his skin. For once, he felt a shiver snake down his spine. “Are you -- are you concussed?” she asked, her hand going to rest against his forehead. She finally seemed to notice the bones that they were lounging on. “....I assume these aren’t yours.”

He looked down at the bones, looked back up at her face, and burst out laughing. “Oh, you know, had a little snack on the way down, forgot to clean up after myself -- OF COURSE THESE AREN’T MINE!” His deep and hearty laughter made her start to laugh as well. They sat there, laughing with each other, for longer than they really should have. They both couldn’t take their eyes off of the other; finding comfort in their presence, joy in their voice, and dreading the next moment when this would fade away. 

And the moment faded all too soon. Sylendias was the first to regain her composure. The laughter faded to giggles as she finally managed to tear her eyes away and look about them at their surroundings. Azgabail’s own laughter quickly died as well. 

_Did this really have to end?_

Sylendias looked about at the … welcoming chamber? She remembered them from her previous...life. These chambers would be used by guests of the Lord of the castle or palace as a place to wait in comfort and style while their host finished their duties before greeting them. This particular chamber was ostentatious -- the walls and floors were of black marble and the ceiling was tiled with great decorated tiles of gold. A hearth, gilded with gold and sapphires, graced one wall. A few antique padded chairs with a small end table stood by it.

The only other thing in the entire room (besides their mattress of bones) was the ornately glided double-doors that reached from floor to ceiling on the far wall. Her eyes narrowed. There. It had to be.

“Liches are strange,” Sylendias said, holding out her hands where she thought Azgabail was still lying prone. “Come, Azgabail. Let’s get you up-”

His hands grasped hers, and with a whoop of surprise, she was pulled upright to stand in the air in front of him.

“Strange?” he teased, arching an eyebrow at her stunned expression. “That, coming from the incandescent flame woman.”

“At least I stick to a single aesthetic,” she countered, straightening her cape. “This Lich can’t seem to make up his mind about the decor.”

He rolled his eyes with a, well, the only word could be _goofy,_ grin on his face. “Of course, mock his choice in decor.”

“I am merely pointing out that he should really streamline the aesthetic he’s going for,” she quipped back, floating a little closer to check to see if Azgabail’s pupils were different sizes. “Are you sure you’re not concussed, Azgabail?”

“No need to dote on me,” Azgabail said with a wave of his hand, “now that I set your pantaloons alight.” Her bright giggle burst from her lips in spite of her efforts. “I am not so fragile.”

“Of course you’re not,” she reassured him. She still pressed a small red potion into his hands. She glanced about the room again. She hated these types of chambers. Waiting, waiting, always waiting. Her eyes locked back onto the double doors. Her grip tightened on the Golem Breaker. She wanted to bash the Lich’s skull in. So many people, including her Azgabail, suffering because the undead asshole could not let go of the mortal plane.

Unbidden, she slowly began to float towards the Lich’s doors.

He reached out and grasped her wrist, effectively stopping her in midair. She blinked. She looked down at his hand. She looked back at him. At the look on his face, she turned and faced him. He did not let go.

“What is it, Azgabail?”

Azgabail’s eyes flashed to the ornate double-doors on the other side of the room. His grip tightened. With a fluid movement, Sylendias prised her fingers underneath his and let their fingers intertwine. Azgabail blinked. His fingers closed around hers and he let the heat of her body move into him.

“What is it?” she asked again, her daylight dimmed by clouds of concern.

His lips parted. What could he even say? He could not force the words when they would not come. _Say something, you idiot! Say_ _anything_ _!_

“We can always go back to the stairs,” he said, his voice low and sultry, “you should see how I can-”

“Azgabail,” she said with a smile of light and eyes aglow, “you’re stalling.”

“Of course not,” he scoffed with a roll of his eyes. “Merely mentioning that we have not taken advantage of every surface possible.”

“Any time?” she said with a knowing smile. “Anywhere?”

He chuckled, pulling her a little closer to him. “Anywhere, Sunshine.” His wings unfurled, flexing in the dim light of the room. “Shall we get creative?”

There it was again. The pounding of his influence in her veins. She sucked in a steadying breath. Still, the thoughts wouldn’t leave. _Why not let him get creative? See what those wings could really do?_ She felt her heart start to pound as his eyes stared deeply into hers. His arm wrapped about her, his hand sliding underneath her cape to rest on the small of her back. His touch inflamed her nerves, sending sparks through her body.

"Perhaps, Sunshine,” he whispered against her skin, “I will show you what truly being entwined with a dark one is like."

His voice, low and husky, almost sent her over the edge. She reached up and cupped his face with a trembling hand and sighed a deep sigh of longing. “Azgabail....”

"Yes... _Sylendias_..." His breath ghosted over her skin as he lifted her in his arms to finally, deliciously, completely, claim her.

She felt herself floating in his arms. _Oh, yes…_

A thought suddenly broke through the layers of influence and desire and... _everything_. The faces of the villagers. Their prayers. Their desperation. She couldn’t...she couldn’t let them down. She looked at Azgabail with clearing eyes and realized that she couldn’t let _him_ down either. They weren’t free, not yet. Not until...

“Wait-!”

He paused, his eyes pleading to take her. "Please... but a few moments."

She choked back a sob at the look in his eyes. “There will be more moments,” she said, trailing her hand down his face. “I want you,” she whispered, as if afraid that someone would overhear them in the air above the marble floor. “Please, don’t think I don’t.” She trembled with her next words. “But, I - I can’t let them down, Azgabail.” Her breath came fast and ragged as she fought her emotions, so damned hot and overwhelming. “We aren’t free, not yet.”

Pressing a hand against her cheek, he relented. "Very well, but we may come to regret this.” They slowly began to drift apart. “Then, head on task, little goddess. I’d hate to lose a...a friend?”

That word, _friend_ , hung between them like a stench in the air. It was an ill fit, and they both knew it.

“Perhaps, under the circumstances,” she said quietly, looking at their hands on each other’s skin, their bodies so close together, the way his eyes couldn’t leave hers, “we can leave _friend_ behind… partner?” 

His eyes glinted in her glow and he smirked. "We must find a better word." He knew the word _he_ wanted. But…perhaps if they actually won. If they won, he would say it. "But that can wait for later."

“If you find one you like,” she teased gently, “just let me know.” She took a deep breath, and for a brief moment, a joy, unlike Azgabail’s euphoria, swept through them — as if to fortify them against what was to come.

He squeezed their hands together for one last time before letting go. “Carry on, little Sunshine."

She nodded firmly, ignoring the tingle the absence of his fingers left behind. She gripped her Golem Breaker tightly and, together, they flew to the ornate double doors that marked the entrance to the Lich’s Lair. 

Her heart was pounding. She should have been thinking about her mission. She should have been thinking of a secondary strategy. But all she could think about was Azgabail’s eyes. They were so haunted. She had a feeling she knew, but she couldn’t be sure until they had entered the Lich’s Lair. She would know. And then, she could do her job. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath.

“Knock or kick in the door?” she asked aloud.

“Is opening it quietly an option?” Azgabail responded, his usual sneer much subdued.

Sylendias nodded. She reached out and quietly, oh so quietly, opened the double-doors. She glanced into the Lich’s Lair to see an enormous, cavernous throne room lined with obsidian pillars decorated with banners that displayed the Lich’s old family crest. A dark red carpet started at the threshold of the doors and went straight to the Lich’s throne. Three chandeliers of wrought-iron and candles hung from the ceiling, casting a dim light from on high.

A skeleton, heavy armor hanging from the bones, sat on the throne. Lifeless. There was no sound.

“Is….is this normal?” Sylendias asked Azgabail, her voice barely more than a whisper. “He doesn’t seem active? Is that the word? It’s certainly not alive.”

“How should I know?” he hissed. “I was in a cage two floors above this.”

Sylendias slowly floated into the enormous throne room, pushing the door open. She blessed the Light for the silent hinges. The skeleton did not move. Her heartbeat seemed to echo through the stillness.

“I wish I had my boot,” she whispered, eyes flickering about the edges of the room, attempting to detect movement -- any movement. This Lich used constructs and Helmed Horrors, after all.

Azgabail might have snorted if the noise wouldn’t have drawn attention to them. “After the Lich kills us both, I’ll explain why that’s a bad idea.”

“Well, I can’t _throw_ the boot if I don’t _have_ the boot, now can I?”

She could _HEAR_ Azgabail’s eyes rolling. She floated a little further into the room. 

She barely managed to keep herself from screaming as the doors slammed shut behind her. She heard them lock. And a voice echoed through the hall.

“ ** _Azgabail…_** ” The deep and unearthly voice came from the Lich. “ ** _Excellent work._** ” Red motes of light appeared in the skeleton’s lidless sockets. The bones began to move as the Lich straightened in his throne and held out a bony hand towards them. “ ** _You have brought me another fresh soul._** ”

She felt movement behind her. She prayed she was wrong.

“ ** _Come to my side._** ”

And she could do nothing but watch as Azgabail -- _her Azgabail_ \-- strode past her, marching towards the Lich and his throne. She knew, she _knew_ going into this that it was possible; Azgabail was a slave to the Lich but she’d still-- _Why?_ It hurt. By the Gods, it hurt so badly. She felt as though something was ripping at her heart. She might as well have been bleeding out onto the carpet from the pain. Then, her eyes caught a glimpse of a glint, a shimmer -- a single tear tracking down Azgabail’s cheek as he passed her.

And she knew. It was a Geas spell. Her eyes flashed to the Lich and rage such as she’d _never_ known tore into her. He’d magically enslaved her Azgabail and she would burn him into oblivion for it.

She turned away from them as Azgabail lifted himself onto the Lich’s throne and draped himself over the armrest. Back turned, hunched over, heart bleeding -- she was able to hide of the small movement of her hand flashing from her breastplate to her mouth. 

No lips to move, no larynx to vibrate, and yet the voice of the Lich rang through the chamber.

“ ** _What did you hope to accomplish by coming here?_** ” She secreted the small firestarter underneath her tongue. “ ** _Save the people? Foolish, they are fed by my hand. Avenge the souls I've consumed? Pointless, they are long dead and I take the sick and dying._** ” Her shoulders began to tremble as she bit down as hard as she could into her own tongue. She choked on a sob as her tears began to flow from her eyes. “ ** _To free Azgabail? Idiotic, he would do much more harm to the world than I._** ”

She could hear the armor clinking as the Lich stood from his seat. Azgabail made no sound.

“ ** _Well then? Your answer, little soul? I would have it._** ”

She steeled herself. She had to turn around. _Turn around! ...stop shaking, dammit._

“ ** _Too scared to even talk?! How foolish to come here._** ” The Lich’s voice both mocked and degraded. It grated in her ears and she wished he would shut up.

She forced herself to turn around.

Tears were not supposed to be beautiful. Tears were ugly, no matter the crier. The blubberer, the sobber, the wailer. He’d seen them all before. All in this room. So, why were hers...? They sparkled like starlight in her eyes, leaving thick comet trails of white as they trailed down her cheeks. They splashed onto the carpet of the Lich's throne room and stayed sparkling as she slowly flew towards them, silently crying.

“I…” she started, her voice forced over her wounded tongue and heart, forced through teeth gritted against the pain, “...am Sylendias. B-Breaker of Chains, Protector of the Oppressed.”

“ ** _Were the people_ ** **_oppressed_ ** **_?_** ” The Lich snarled at her, the red motes of his eyes flashing brightly. “ ** _Or were they cared for? Loved? Molded into a functioning town in the ass end of the world? All because she wished…_** ” The Lich paused, a bony hand leaning on the armrest not occupied by Azgabail. “ ** _All because my wife loved these settlers._** ”

“Tell me, then, Ainz al Goön,” Sylendias said, still slowly gliding towards them, “do you know why they would pray to their Gods for release?” The red motes within the Lich’s eyes flared dangerously. “Why else should I be sent here?”

Ainz’s hand flicked and a shimmering wall of light appeared between them. Sylendias ceased to move forward, but she floated there -- she desperately tried to stem the flow of hot blood in her mouth. There was only so much that sobbing could cover up at this distance.

“ ** _Because they are ignorant fools!_** ” The Lich’s roar made Sylendias shudder. She wondered briefly if the Lich had permanently cast Thaumaturgy. “ ** _They do not realize that I protect them each and every day! And I ask for so little! I ask them to live here and keep my wife's dream alive!_** ”

“Then tell me Ainz,” she asked quietly, rolling the small firestarter around her pain, “what was her dream?

“ ** _She wanted this valley to be lush. To have children play in the market. To have people be... happy._** " He paused, the red motes in his eyes dimming slightly at the words. **_"And they_ ** **_will_ ** **_be."_ **

Sylendias’s tears continued to fall; _at what point would the Lich notice?_ Her eyes flickered to Azgabail’s own. He sat there, draped seductively on the armrest, an unmoving statue of flesh and wings. His eyes, however, were different. Instead of the liveliness she’d grown so accustomed to, they were glassy -- glazed. Were they... _pleading_? Or pained? She couldn’t tell but she couldn’t -- she had to -- 

She forced her gaze back to the Lich. _Was it possible for a skeleton to glare?_ Even if it wasn’t, he was somehow managing it. “That...that is truly a worthy dream,” Sylendias said, choking on the pain in her throat. “But Ainz, can you not see?”

Ainz lidless sockets burned with the red light and his bones creaked as he gripped the throne. “ ** _See what, godling?_** ”

She flinched at the term that once came from Azgabail’s mouth.

“By controlling them, by enforcing your own will for their happiness upon them, you have stifled them.” Why was her heart still…? She had to keep going. “They suffocate underneath you, unable to grow in their own happiness. They cannot see their own for they are buried underneath yours.” The Lich actually seemed to be listening. Miracle of miracles. “That isn't..." Her eyes met Azgabail’s again. _No spark danced there_. Her heart constricted even more. All she wanted... _if only she could--_ "that isn't love."

“ ** _No matter. I have already found a better way,_** ” Ainz al Goön said, glaring at the Goddess in front of him. “ ** _When I bring my beloved back to life, she will show them!_** ”

Horror filled Sylendias. The notes in the Artificer’s office, the feast spread out on the table, the absence of everyone else… it all made sense. Sylendias had flown herself directly into a trap. 

“That isn’t -- that isn’t the better way.”

Her whisper seemed to rebound and reverberate in the still air. The Lich’s eyes glowed brighter and he began to stalk towards her, the armor clanking ominously.

“ ** _And what,_** ” the Lich snarled, his killing intent building in his lidless eyes, “ ** _would you KNOW OF IT?!_** ”

“Not as much as I should,” Sylendias said quietly. “And...perhaps I never will. I do not know your life with her, nor how to come to be how you are.” She paused, trying to gather herself. “But I do know this, Ainz al Goön,” she said, beginning to glow brightly and rising higher into the air. “I know what a corrupted love like yours can do! If you truly love her as you claim to, you would _not_ force that upon her! I know this -- for my own father attempted to do the same!” Her tears were hot and thick from her blazing eyes as her hair whipped behind her as if in a storm. “He attempted to force me to do his will and when I did not, he disowned me, enslaved me, and sold me to the highest bidder!” Sylendias pointed an accusing finger towards the Lich upon his throne. “Would you do the same to her if she rejects _your_ will?!”

“ ** _You dare to compare her pain to yours?!_** ” The Lich roared. “ ** _Y_** ** _ou dare to sully her memory by dissecting our love?!_** ” The shimmering wall of force disappeared as al Goön stalked through it, lidless eyes locked onto the glowing goddess in front of him, his hands full of terrible green light. “ ** _You,_** ” he snarled, “ ** _who fell for demonic wiles, lecturing ME about true love?_** ”

Sylendias stood her ground, although she trembled to do it. If he struck her down now… her hand shook from her grip on the Golem Breaker. _Azgabail was counting on her…_ She couldn’t let him do it. _Don’t think._ _ACT_ _!_

“As if _that’s_ true love,” she spat at him. “Your love is nothing but a disgrace to her memory.”

The Lich’s advance stopped. Sylendias shook as the cold fury of the Lich crashed against her.  
  
“ ** _Y_** ** _ou….dare…?_** ” The Lich turned away from her. As he marched back towards his throne, he motioned to Azgabail. “ ** _Azgabail, show this pathetic creature how you truly feel about her._** ”

Azgabail finally moved. His wings unfurled and he took to the air, circling around her as Ainz took his seat once more. Sylendias’s hand flashed down to her Bag as she braced herself. Her body followed Azgabail’s stalking circles and she saw him mouth the words, “Sorry, Sunshine,” before he dove, hands outstretched to grab her.

She dropped the Golem Breaker and flew into his embrace. Her hands tangled into his hair, running over his horns, her fingers dancing all over his scalp. She held him so close that she could feel every muscle. Her lips came to his ear, whispering, “ _Love is freedom, for you and for me. By the Light that shines within me, may you be set free._ ”

A bright flash of sunlight emanated from her body and blasted through Azgabail’s mind, driving away the Lich’s control. As his eyes cleared, the sparkle in them matched the diamond dust that Sylendias had coated his entire head with. A hand came up and cupped her chin. He tilted her face towards his and she saw the sparkle in his eyes before he pulled her to him. He claimed her lips with a deep, toe-curling, spine-bending kiss.

She now knew what she felt. It finally had a name. It finally had a face. And Azgabail had been the one to show her.

 **_Love_**.

\------

The tiefling was nearly blown off of his chair by the explosion of noise that the crowd before him made at the word. Many were sobbing, others were cheering, and still others were clamoring with their neighbors about how they’d known all along, of course, she’d had the plan!

He shook his head with a smile and leaned down to grab his tankard. He watched as the bard who had been taking notes sobbed into her crossed arms, notes scattered about and ink spilled upon the table. 

“He loves her back,” came the voice of the barmaid from his right. He looked over to see her with high-spots of color in her cheeks and her bodice strings in knots about her fingers. “Right?”

The bard’s smirk faltered for the first time that night.

“Doesn’t he?” she seemed to plead. 

The tiefling set down his tankard and ran a hand through his hair. “Is it that simple?” he asked, almost unwilling to meet her eyes. “Remember, he was a powerful Incubus, thousands of years older than she. Is love truly possible for one such as he?”

“But-but you said,” she protested, fingers tying and untying the knots of her bodice strings, “you _said_ she finally understood what she felt and that it was love.”

“Aye,” the bard agreed, his own fingers beginning to play with the holy symbol about his neck, “but that was what _she_ felt. How do we know he wasn’t using her to gain his own freedom from the Lich’s control?”

“But, he tried to stop her from-” the barmaid was silenced by a friend who pushed a hunk of cheese wrapped in bread into her hands.

“Did he?” the bard asked, the medallion sparkling in the light. “Please, good listeners. We are nearly there. Sylendias knew in her heart that what she was feeling was love. The concept of romantic love had been locked away from her, stolen from her, and yet she had found it again, in the embrace of a demon. It was no longer an empty feeling meant to soothe children at night or for bards to capitalize on.” A low laugh rippled through the audience. “She didn’t want to let go of him, now that she knew…” And the tiefling continued the tale, his voice somber and low in the air.

\------

Azgabail was the one to break the kiss. He pulled away from her, the heat slowly dissipating from where her body pressed against his. He slipped her a wink as he released her hands. Then, he turned and advanced on the Lich.

Sylendias panted for breath, her realization still humming through her. She was reluctant to let go but she had to… Azgabail was already stalking towards the Lich and she had to be ready. _Wait -- what’s this?_ She opened her fist ( _when did it become a fist?_ ) and saw a polished ring of silver set with a beautiful opal lying in her palm. She blinked. Azgabail didn’t wear gemstones. And this was a different style than his rings -- 

_By the Light._ He’d given her the Phylactery.

“ ** _I told you to finish her!_** ” Ainz al Gooön roared in his fury. Sylendias’s eyes flashed up to the confrontation happening in front of her.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Azgabail taunted, his wings stretching to their full size. “You told me to show her how I felt about her, you pathetic worm.”

Sylendias quickly brought the opal ring to her lips. She kissed it, transferring the firestarter to the ring. “May your soul be free in the light,” she whispered, clutching the ring to her chest.

“ ** _What are you-? NO!_** ”

Azgabail charged the Lich as the Lich made to lunge forward. They grappled as Sylendias cast her spell and exploded in a ball of fire centered on her enclosed hands. She felt the ring melt in her hands, the opal turning to molten minerals.

The Lich grabbed Azgabail by the neck and threw him from him. Azgabail tumbled across the floor, back slamming into one of the pillars that lined the throne room. Sylendias dove for her Golem Breaker and the Lich lunged for Sylendias.

“ ** _You will never besmirch her memory again after I consume you!_** ” The Lich roared, his bony fingers outstretched. Sylendias managed to grab her Golem Breaker. She threw herself backward in an attempt to dodge the Lich’s hands but the Lich was too quick. His touch paralyzed her. She froze in mid-air -- one hand held up, one hand grasping her marble sword. She could do nothing. The Lich reached out and grabbed ahold of her face. “ ** _I will rip your soul from this flesh prison,_** ” he snarled, his free hand glowing with ancient horrors, “ ** _and Azgabail_** _,_ ” he spat the name like a curse, “ ** _will_ ** **_watch_** ** _._** ”

Her breath escaped her mouth in a cloud of vapor as a horrid chill ran through her. _No, no, nonono I can’t-!_

“Ainz, my love,” came a sultry voice from behind them. Ainz turned and beheld the vision of his wife standing there before him in the flesh. She held her arms out to him, beckoning him closer. “I am here.”

Ainz released Sylendias’s face, stepping towards the vision of his wife. Perhaps it was the curl of her lips, perhaps it was the red glint that flashed through her eyes, but Ainz wasn’t fooled for long.

“ ** _Your mockery,_** ” he snarled, lunging for the woman, “ ** _will be your downfall, Azgabail!_** ”

Azgabail shifted back to his own shape as he dodged the Lich’s spells and hands. Sylendias struggled. She couldn’t break free of the paralysis. She couldn’t even whistle. _He needs me! I have to-!_

Azgabail’s wings shot him into the air as he dodged another flash of green light. The Lich hurled a curse at him.

“Fighting,” Azgabail yelled to her as he dove towards the Lich, “is NOT my forté!” She could only watch as he grappled the Lich, his legs wrapping about the bony neck. He grabbed the Lich’s skull and bent forward, planting his lips to the teeth of the Lich. The Lich reached up and grabbed Azgabail by the kilt. Azgabail was yanked off of the undead creature and thrown almost to Sylendias’s feet.

 _For him. For me. For..._ _us_ _!_

And with that final struggle, Sylendias propelled herself from the paralyzation. “Hold on, Azga-!” she shouted, starting to dart forward, sword raised.

“ ** _I did not wish to lose such a valuable asset,_** ” the Lich’s voice boomed out, “ ** _but you leave me little choice._** ”

And Azgabail was hit with a green flash of light from the Lich’s outstretched hand. He only had the time to turn and find Sylendias’s wide eyes before he disintegrated into ash. No time for words. Just… _gone_.

Sylendias stared as the ash that had been Azgabail slowly floated through the air. What had been his body and wings crumbled into dust and fell to the floor. “Ah...hz….?” The sword in her hands fell to the ground with a loud clang. She could only stare at the ash and dust.

The Lich began to stalk towards her once again, his hands filled with the hated magic.

A low sound came from the Goddess. It almost sounded like a rusty chain breaking. Her shaking hands found her heart and she clutched at it as waves of love and pain and ache and loss flooded her. She began to glow from the inside. A terrible scream suddenly wrent itself from her throat; the Lich remembered the sound all too well. His heart had made that sound the moment his wife had died.

Sylendias’s back arched as she lifted her scream to the Heavens. She continued to glow brighter and brighter as her terrible pain ravaged inside her. Ainz raised his hands just in time to be hit with an explosive wave of dazzling Radiance as the Goddess of the Zenith’s pain exploded from her. The Lich was blasted backward.

His body slammed against his throne. He crumpled to the ground -- his armor wrecked, his robes destroyed. The banners on the pillars all burst into flames and he lifted his gaze to see the Goddess, wreathed in a glimmering aura of pure supernova daylight staring directly at him.

Ainz al Goön stumbled to his feet. He lifted a hand, pointing to the incandescent woman before him. “ ** _Die!_** ” The command left him and another flash of green light hit the Goddess in the center of her chest. The spell slammed into her. She was thrown back. She tumbled across the floor, golden chunks of her armor and scraps of white cloth leaving a trail of destruction behind her. She skidded to a stop and lay there.

“ ** _Your soul will serve me well,_** ” the Lich said into the stillness, drawing himself up to finish her off. “ ** _You will -_** ”

“Shut. **Up**.”

The Lich’s expression of triumph melted as the Goddess pushed herself to her hands and knees, and then to her feet.

Sylendias rose into the air once more, her golden armor hanging off of her frame. She reached up and tugged it free. It clattered to the ground. She ripped the tatters of her gauzy white pants from her legs and thus clad only in supernova daylight, she advanced on the Lich.

Ainz al Goön stumbled backward, his bones scrabbling for a hold on his throne.

Her tears of starlight fell fast and thick. “Ainz al Goön, your days of enslavement and oppression are over and done.” She raised her incandescent hand. “May you be judged in the Light.”

A fiery sphere of daylight engulfed the Lich.

“That,” she whispered, “was for _him._ ” 

The plasmatic fire faded, leaving the smoking husk of the skeleton collapsed on the floor. He coughed, the red motes of light within his sockets beginning to wink out. “ ** _You know, I could have killed you,_** ” he said, twisting his head to stare at the Goddess as she advanced towards him. “ ** _At any time_**.”

“You certainly tried,” she said, too brilliant to look fully at. “May you know peace, Ainz al Goön," she said, her voice hoarse and shaking, "and may you be reunited with your wife after your punishment has been met."

“ ** _You misunderstand me,_** ” the Lich wheezed, rolling onto his back. “ ** _I could have. There were over twenty-five methods to kill you from the moment you walked into this room. But I pulled my punches...perhaps, perhaps I was tired._** ” The light in his sockets faded. “ ** _I will see my wife soon... she'll know what I was trying... to... do…_** ” And with that final word, the skeleton lost all animation and the bones collapsed in a lifeless pile on the floor.

Sylendias turned away from the corpse. She slowly flew to the pile of ash, her holy aura slowly fading until she arrived, dim and lifeless to the spot where Azgabail had crumbled into dust. She slowly fell through the air to land on her knees in a cloud of ash and dust. She held out her hands and watched as it settled onto her skin. She began to shake uncontrollably and she fell to the floor -- sobbing as she’d never had before. She wailed like a child who never got to mourn a murdered mother. She sobbed like a teenager who’d been stripped and sold into slavery. She cried like a woman who’d lost her first love. 

She mourned as the Goddess who loved a Demon.

\-----

“And that,” the tiefling said into the horrified stillness of the pub, “is where the Celestials and townspeople found her many hours later.” He reached underneath his cloak and pulled a well-loved viol from the darkness. He sat there, tuning the strings and plucking notes one by one. “Heartbroken, with the Fiend’s Kiss still glowing on her lips, she told them her story. They declared her misled and manipulated.” He lifted the viol and prepared to play. “They attempted to erase the Kiss from her.”

“No…” whispered the barmaid in horror.

The bard nodded. “She resisted and fled. Where she went, I do not know. But this song, this is for her.”

With that, he began to play. The tune he coaxed from the wood and strings flowed with a strange melody. The strings trembled and sang of sunlight. The wood echoed a darker refrain. The patrons of the pub sat in silence as the music washed over them. He made his viol sing and weep in the same strain of notes -- one could almost see light and shadow twisting about each other in the moving musical score.

Patrons listened in silence as tears fell from their eyes. Drinks had long been forgotten. One young man pulled his date close and whispered into her ear that he would like to marry her. She whispered her answer back, their hands entwining sweetly as they shared a tear-stained kiss.

The last notes of the bard’s song rang into the air. He unshouldered his viol and whispered to the silent crowd, “That is her tale. I thank you for listening.”

He was surprised at how quickly he was able to get to his rented room. The pub had sat in stunned silence as he left and he was grateful for it. Not that he didn’t love his adoring public, but tonight… telling the story had drained him more than he had anticipated. He sat on the bed, rubbing a hand over his tired storm-blue eyes. His fingers found the holy medallion of the Zenith about his neck and he wrapped his hands around it, holding it close to his heart.

“Your story has been told for the first time, dear Goddess,” he whispered to it, wondering if he actually felt the warmth that seemed to emanate from it. “Wherever you are, I can only pray that-”

An almost timid knock sounded. He glanced at the door. A shadow moved in the light from the hall.

“Yes?” he called out, not moving. The knock sounded again.

“Please, bard,” came the voice of the barmaid. “I just- I wanted to ask-”

He held the medallion to his lips and whispered a goodbye that was not heard before standing and shrugging out of his cloak and doublet. He even unlaced his shirt just enough to show off his multiple tattoos -- dark purple against his red skin. He cast a glance to his reflection in the small mirror beside the door. He readjusted his ear jewelry before pulling open the door and leaning with one arm against the doorframe.

“Good evening,” he purred, smiling at the barmaid with the tight bodice and knotted strings. “I thought I recognized your voice.”

She eyed him with a knowing smile; after all, she was a barmaid. It came with the territory. “Firstly,” she said with a tilt of her pretty head, “you aren’t _him_ , are you?”

The bard clucked his tongue. “My dear girl,”

“Igrane,” she interrupted.

“Well, Igrane,” he continued, “if I were _him_ , do you think I would be here, telling the story? Or would I be out there, still continuing it?”

“One would hope continuing it,” she said firmly, a finger twirling around a much-abused bodice string. “Then, what is your name? How did you hear the tale?”

He ran a tongue over a strangely elongated canine tooth before answering her. “My name is Azerial,” he said, reaching forward and grasping her hand. He pulled it to his lips and gave it a gentle kiss. While lustful abandonment did not crash into her, she still felt a strange tingling thrill shoot through her body. “And I wouldn’t want to infringe upon your night with the story.”

“Maybe I’m asking you to infringe,” she said, biting her lip. “I want to know _more_ , Azerial.”

“Well, if you insist,” he drawled as he began to guide her over the threshold. “I can order-”

“The last thing I want to see right now is any kind of alcohol,” she said with a laugh, allowing him to pull her into the room.

“Had your fill of drunken shenanigans?”

“And then some,” she smiled, turning to face him as he closed the door. He grinned at her and gestured for her to take a seat. Instead, she stepped closer to him. She reached for the medallion about his neck hesitantly. “May I?”

“By all means, but be gentle,” he teased, leaning over so that she wouldn’t need to pull on the chain. She nodded before taking the medallion in her hands.

She ran a fingertip over the delicate details; broken chains and lavender sprigs, the sun and the moon, and a bisected heart of both light and shadow in the center. “She gave this to you, didn’t she?” She could almost feel a warmth emanating from it.

“Aye, she did,” he nodded, his eyes growing wistful. “I just -- happened to be in the right place, at the right time.”

Igrane let the medallion go, setting it back against his chest. “Tell me about her,” she asked quietly, her hands softly running down his chest. “Was she as radiant as the story suggests?”

Azerial’s features softened as he drifted away in his memory. “She could be,” he said quietly as a hand ran over her hair. “But a deep sadness has dimmed her light. Like dark clouds covering the sky at midday.”

Igrane made a sound of sympathy as her arms encircled his waist and pulled him against her soft curves.

“She was unbelievably kind,” he continued, his own arms responded automatically to her embrace. “She shared what little she had with me, a perfect stranger, and opened her heart over a warm meal and a bottle of elven wine.”

“Luckily, it was you,” she teased softly, her hands already undoing his belt. “You believed her.”

“How could I not?” Azerial chuckled, unsheathing a dagger before she completely removed his belt. He began to cut away at the knots that trapped her in her own bodice. “The Fiend’s Kiss was enough proof for me.”

“The Fiend’s Kiss?” she asked, leaning back for him to have easier access to the dratted strings. “What is that?”

His dagger cut another knot. “The Fiend’s Kiss,” he began, pulling at the strings, “is a mark that appears on the mouth of a being who has kissed an Incubus or Succubus willingly, and not perished.”

She shrugged out of her bodice, letting it fall to the floor. “Why would the Celestials want to erase it from her?”

He trailed the edge of the dagger down the side of her neck and smiled at her shudder. “Would you trust a Goddess with the mark of a Demon on her lips?”

“Yes,” Igrane whispered, rolling the line of her shirt down to expose more of her skin to his dagger’s trailing edge, “I would.”

“Ah, but you know her story,” he said, watching as she shuddered with each pass of the dagger’s point. “Does that not make you biased?”

“Is that not why you’re telling her story?”

His eyes sparkled and she knew she’d hit upon the truth. He tossed the dagger to the side and with a sweeping motion, he dipped the woman and kissed her until her toes curled and she was gripping onto him tightly. Any more talk was abandoned in favor of the sheets and all the lovely sounds they could coax from the other.

It was only when the dawn began to rise over the horizon that they spoke again.

“Was it real?” Igrane asked, pushing herself up to look at Azerial’s face as he laid flat on his back in the bed. “Their love?”

“Not a soul alive still knows,” Azerial said, his eyes still closed but a smile playing on his features. “But I choose to believe.”

“I believe too,” she said, turning to look at the sun’s first beams of the dawn broke through the shutters. “I believe.”


End file.
